Tinted Gray Stripes
by Broadway
Summary: What's a nice girl like you doing at *this* prep school?
1. Default Chapter

A navy blue ribbed sweater pulled over a blue-and-white-checkered button-down and dark, solid tie complimented the pressed khakis young Scott Summers had donned this morning. The young man, however, was not concerned about his appearance at present. Instead, he anxiously unpacked his full suitcases, folding and unfolding various items of clothing and hanging them on thick, white plastic hangers or stacking them away in the safety of the fine, oak dresser. Scott picked up his program from the opening ceremony: "settling-in" hours were from precisely 10:00 A.M. to 12:00 P.M. He glanced at the red digital numbers on the clock he'd practically set at his bedside.  
  
11:43  
  
His roommate technically had seventeen minutes until he was officially late.  
  
Scott's eyes wandered across the room, landing on a framed copy of the school rules, printed in neat, strict font and centered down the middle with precise clarity.  
  
No student will be seen with a member/members of the opposite sex past 8:00 P.M. on weeknights and 11:00 P.M. on weekends unless granted permission by a staff member.  
No student may leave school grounds on weeknights and must return by 11:00 P.M. on weekends.  
All students will be appro-  
  
The door swung open and Scott's head whipped to the side. His roommate stood leaning against the frame, sunglasses perched on his nose and a backpack swung across his shoulder. "You must be Scott." He stumbled into the room, heading for the bed Scott had clearly claimed as his own with comforter, bed sheets, and books on the end table. The tall, lissome boy stopped upon noticing Scott's belongings. "You stole my bed," he said, his words slightly slurred and obviously said with much effort.  
  
Slightly confused, Scott tilted his head and asked, "Should I move my stuff?"  
  
The boy flipped a hand in dismissal, tossing his bag onto the other bed. "Nah, don't worry 'bout it."  
  
"Good, 'cause I wasn't going to." Scott retorted. The other boy raised his eyebrows and slid the shades down just low enough so that his gleaming eyes peeked over. Finally, he took the sunglasses off altogether and stood looking at Scott, his body weight shifted to one side and mouth quirked into a very slight, incredulous smile.   
  
"Remy LeBeau," he said, and added just as simply, "New Orleans."  
  
"Scott Summers, New York."   
  
Remy spoke while he pulled a chair from his desk and straddled it. "What part of New York, den?"   
  
Scott remained standing. "Almond. Almond, New York. No wealth, no inheritance, no senator father, just me and my brains which you can damn-well bet is what earned me every ounce of my scholarship."  
  
"Woah, woah, brot'er." Remy held his hands in front of him. "Calm down. I don't give a hell if you're Johnny fuckin' Appleseed. You're my roommate this year so we're gonna have to get off on a better foot dan dis, especially when I start bringing in de sweet li'l junior girls and show dem just what deir daddy meant when he said stay away from dem sout'ern boys." He looked around him for a moment and ran a hand through his long auburn hair, oily at the tips and falling between his eyes. His gaze fell on the program for the opening ceremony Scott had left on his desk. Remy stood and retrieved it. "Xavier's Preparatory School for Gifted Students. Heh, sounds like a fuckin' prison, but I t'ink you'll like it here."   
  
Scott was having his doubts. "You dare doubt me?" Remy continued, mock hurt painted on his features. He broke into a grin. "I know what will make you love dis place, for all de reasons I love dis place." He took long, purposeful strides to the door. "A tour!" Scott shrugged, unable to suppress a smile himself. This guy was a card. He recovered a campus map from his pant pocket and turned it in his hands while Remy threw an arm around his shoulder. The older boy crumpled Scott's map and tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan. It missed, Scott noted. "First stop: Marion Leigh."  
  
Scott cocked his head. "Marion Leigh? Isn't that the girls do-?"  
  
"Dat's right."  
  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: This is the part where I dis-claim the X-Men as my own, as if I'd ever claimed them as my own in the first place.  
  
AN: Boom, baby! I am one, review-hungry fan-fic author.  
  
Next: of course, introducing the two lovely ladies. Where this chapter was fairly clean, the next ones, while they won't necessarily be crude, won't be so innocent.  
  
Confusion, mixed assumptions, and sticky infatuations; my work here is done. 


	2. Cain and Abel

Remy pushed himself through the revolving doors, the cool air conditioning swallowing him at his entrance. It was a late August day and the clouds outside were thick; their invisible moisture laced the atmosphere with the sticky, damp, breathless air that Remy could only identify as one of two things: humidity or sex. At that particular moment, it was humidity.   
  
The refreshing temperature inside the building was not, by any means, Remy's justification for visiting the library. On the contrary, his visit was completely selfless. Hands in tailored, khaki pockets, he flashed the middle-aged woman behind the circulation desk a grin as cocky and suave as his fluid movements past her. Her eyes dropped to her book while her face flushed a burning scarlet. He chuckled inwardly, continuing his search.  
  
It didn't last long. He found Scott at a study table, various encyclopedias situated around him while he read a particular volume. Remy rolled his eyes and shook his head, making way toward his young roommate. It was only a few days ago that Remy had introduced the kid to at least ten different girls over at Marion Leigh and Scott hadn't gone back once to reap the fruits of Remy's generous labor. Instead, he hides away here every night, nose stuck in some damned book.   
  
Oh yes, Remy was going to have to put a stop to this, immediately.  
  
"What," Remy started, pulling out a chair at Scott's table and sliding easily into it, "de fuck do you t'ink you are doing? Jesus, Scott, it's Friday night."  
  
Scott sighed, his eyes glued to the pages. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the fine art of literature."  
  
Remy leaned to glance over Scott's shoulder. "Ah yes, de intensely provocative tale of de sedimentary rock." He scoffed. "Come on, Scott. I know Xavier's isn't exactly 54, but we gotta make de best wit' what we have. Now ditch de goddamned book and let's go. I'll whip us up some dates in no time." Remy's eyes crawled over the hardbacks surrounding him as if one would open their jaws and swallow him whole.  
  
Scott remained seated. "For your information, there is something quite calming about research. Never am I so relaxed and in sync with my body as I am when studying such riveting topics as..." his gaze dropped back to the pages and his face fell, "rocks."  
  
Remy blinked, turning his head and muttering incredulously. Then he saw it, not thirty feet from them. "Ohhh, I see, homme." Remy's sharp, attractive features broke into a wide, knowing smile. "I see." He repeated.  
  
Scott shifted in his seat. "See what?" He asked, unable to meet Remy's stare.  
  
"I see why 'researching' gets you so 'in sync.' Hell, I wouldn't mind my body being 'in sync' wit' hers, eit'er," he shot Scott a wicked look, "if you know what I'm sayin.'"  
  
Scott furrowed his brows. "I don't know what you're talking about," he stated flatly, thumbing anxiously through pages.  
  
"Mm-hmm. Boy, I am de last person you'd be able to lie to about dis shit. Now I know a man, a real man, does not come into a library on his Friday night to read about rocks." He flipped the encyclopedia closed. "He comes in for dat." Remy pointed a slender finger at a thin redhead sitting on a couch against the far wall. She held a small book open and toyed absently with the buttons on her white blouse, obviously engrossed in her reading. Her hair fell in long, full crimson curls, complementing her creamy complexion.   
  
"Looks like she's really enjoyin' dat book," Remy noted.  
  
"I've been watching her bite that lip for almost half-an-hour." Scott replied, letting himself indulge in some blatant staring of his own beside Remy.  
  
Remy tipped his head. "Not bad; I like 'em a li'l fuller around de hips, but she's got a real nice face. Go for it, homme."   
  
"No," Scott said simply. Remy stared blankly.  
  
"What do you mean 'no'?"  
  
"I mean I'm not making an ass of myself four days into the school year."  
  
"Oh," Remy nodded, "okay, so, so stalk her for anot'er few weeks...brilliant."  
  
She stood from her seat at the couch and crossed to a near study table where an assortment of papers and notebooks had been left. "She's leaving, man!" Remy stood. "Go. Now!"  
  
Scott yanked his roommate back into his seat. "Would you shut-up!? Do you want her to hear you?"  
  
"You're rally not gonna do it?" It was less of a question than a statement. Scott nodded furiously, darting glances at her to make sure she wasn't being made witness to the ridiculous situation. "Fine," Remy snapped. "I have to do *everyt'ing* for you, I see." He snapped back to his feet and was out of Scott's reach before the younger boy could snatch him back.   
  
"Remy!" He hissed between his teeth.  
  
The Cajun wandered to where the redheaded girl was packing things into her shoulder bag. Scott threw his book open and watched the scene from a distance, gripping the hardback. Remy reached her table and paused, watching her.  
  
She stopped, her little book still in hand, and turned to face Remy. "Yes?"  
  
He made a small, breathless chuckle and Scott watched him go into 'charm-mode' with subtle changes in little movements and the throaty tone.   
  
"I'm sorry for staring, chere," he began, "I just couldn't help but notice dat you were reading EAST OF EDEN. I love dat book."  
  
She blinked, the corners of her lips slightly upturned. "Oh really?" He nodded positively. She swallowed, clearly surprised. "It's one of my favorites," she continued. "I'm a Steinbeck slut."   
  
Remy pinched his mouth and then smiled again. She was perfect for Scott. "Well, if you're not too busy wit' Steinbeck tomorrow night, why don't you come have dinner wit' my friend and me."  
  
"Friend?" She asked, perking an eyebrow.   
  
"Yea, his name is Scott. You'll like him. I know dis place downtown- nice little jazzy place. We'll pick you up at 7:30."  
  
She sighed, staring down at her bag for a moment. Tables away, Scott held his breath and clenched the book even tighter. She met Remy's eyes again, smiling as well now. "Alright."  
  
"Wonderful. You're gonna have a great time." He promised.  
  
She pulled the bag off the desk and onto her shoulder, turning to walk away from him. "Oh wait, I didn't catch your name!"  
  
She spun on her heel and called back from the revolving doors. It had gotten dark outside. "Jean," she said.  
  
"I'm Remy," he cried back. "See you tomorrow, Jean. And bring a friend!"  
  
"Sir, this is a library!" The woman behind the desk hissed in a high whisper.  
  
Remy blinked, meeting his eyes with hers. "Sorry, love." He called in a dramatic whisper. She pursed her mouth and shook her head, settling her glasses back on her nose.   
  
Remy turned to wink at Scott before making his own way out of the library. "T'ank you, Remy. Gee, no problem, Scott. What are amazing, generous, witty, extraordinary roommates for?"  
  
  
**  
  
"Please, please, please, please!" Jean flopped onto her roommate's bed in a tank and underwear. "I'll do *anything!*"  
  
Rogue blew on the glossy, freshly-painted fingernails adorning her left hand and proceeded to paint the right one. "Jean, Ah'd love to help ya', but c'mon, you don't honestly expect me to give up *my* Satuhday naght for a blind date just so you can get freaky with some dark-eyed sexy beast, do you?"  
  
"But Rogue, look at it this way: if Remy's that good-looking, I'm sure his friend is equally attractive!"  
  
Rogue adjusted her position on the bay window sill. "Ah dunno, girl."  
  
Jean bent backward at the waist until she was hanging upside down over the bed. She covered her hands and groaned. "Oh, come on, Rogue! I thought you'd be the type to take a gamble!"  
  
Rogue stood, donning a short white slip she wore to bed. She planted a hand on one hip, careful not to let her wet nails touch the fabric. She huffed a defiant auburn curl from between her wide, olive eyes. "Damn it, girl. You owe me."   
  
Jean sat up on her knees and squealed happily. "Oh thank you, Rogue!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Ah sweah, Jean, if he turns out to be some prep jerk, Ah'm borrowing anything from your closet anytime Ah want."  
  
"Yeah right, cow!" Jean grinned.  
  
"What!? Get off my bed, you li'l whore."  
  
Jean laughed out loud, moving from Rogue's bed to her own. "I know you did not just call *me* a whore, Miss Already-Has-About-Five-Guys-Lined-Up-For-The-Year."  
  
"Ah can't help it that Ah am a sex goddess, can I?" The southern beauty stretched across the length of her wine-red sheets.   
  
Jean rolled her eyes. "Right."  
  
  
**  
  
"What de fuck is dat?" Remy met Scott's eyes through the bathroom mirror while he grazed his sleek silver razor from Adam's apple to chin in one fluid movement. They prepared for the big night at the boys' bathroom sinks.  
  
Scott lowered his head, eyes crawling over his outfit. "What's what?"  
  
Remy shook his head, swashing the razor into the cloudy sink water. "Scott, my boy, when escorting a woman as fine as...the one you are escorting, one does not walk out of his closet dressed in dat t'ing I'm assuming you call a sweater."  
  
"What's wrong with my sweater?" He looked past Remy into the mirror and ran a palm over the thick charcoal gray pullover. "I may not have *frivolously* spent three-hundred bucks on it, but it's still a damned nice sweater."  
  
"Hey, if you're referring to de Gucci coat I own, you can suck it; I didn't buy it 'cause it was t'ree-hundred, I bought it 'cause it's a stylish, warm, practical coat." He paused, running the blade over his face again. "And damn, it's a Gucci!"  
  
Scott prepared to retort when the bathroom door swung open. Noel Mason stepped easily into the facilities, approaching a mirror and commencing to inspect either side of his face. He was a lean, fairly tall boy with an intelligent, clean-shaven look. He presented himself with confident airs- all wealth and power- and a stranger would assume that not only he attended a prep school, but as did his father and his father and his father. Remy knew him from their junior year last year, much to the former boy's dismay.   
  
An awkward silence hung in the air until the heavy door swung open a second time. Scott blinked, his eyes darting from the first boy to the second. Remy grinned, swaggering and mischievous. "What, dey don't have twins in Almond, Scotty?"  
  
Dickie Mason snorted and crossed the clean white tiles toward his brother, flashing Remy a sour smile and refusing to even acknowledge Scott.   
  
Scott immediately picked up on the bad atmosphere created by their appearance. Obviously, there was not good history between the twins and Remy. He leaned against a far wall, hands in pockets, opting not to leave Remy alone with the boys. Two against one; it hardly seemed fair. Maybe Remy would go easy on them.  
  
The second boy cut through the silence again, this time making his voice sharp and pronounced while he conversed with his brother. "Big date tonight, boy?"  
  
Noel smirked. "Not really. Just Candy."  
  
"I saw her the other night. I'm almost scared to bang her these days, as many cocks as she's sucked."  
  
Scott pursed his lips. A lot of tact, these guys had.  
  
Noel, drying his hands now, noticed Scott's subtle grimace. His eyes traveled to Remy, still shaving. "She's such a whore- almost as bad as Remy's mom."  
  
Remy paused in mid-stroke, inclining his head just so over his shoulder but not meeting the twin's eyes. Scott stood to attention. There was a moment of heavy silence. Remy swallowed and his voice was calm and low. "Say it again, Noel," he dared.  
  
Scott briefly wondered how his roommate could tell them apart, but his attentions were soon focused on more important issues as the twins moved to stand side by side, facing Remy.  
  
"You don't scare us," Dickie sneered. "You're nothing but a filthy mob brat and everyone knows your daddy sent you here to get you out of the way of his business- the filthy pimp."  
  
Remy charged for the boys but gained a maximum of three steps before Scott blocked him, hands on Remy's shoulders and guiding the furious Cajun back a few feet. "Jesus, Remy!" Scott hissed in his ear. "Think, just *think*. What happens after you kick their asses, huh? Xavier gets up here and we're both screwed for our dates tonight. Hey, hey! Think of Jean's hot li'l friend. You wouldn't want her to be all alone on this fine Saturday night, now would you?"  
  
Remy blinked, meeting Scott's eyes and a small smile creasing his features. "Screwed for our dates tonight?" He chuckled, slapping Scott's shoulder. "We can only hope, neh?" He glared at the twins as they made their way out of the bathroom. "Get de fuck outta here," he spat.  
  
**  
  
Remy prided himself on his ability to wear yellow. Many men could not; it was a plain fact. It took style, grace, the right shades and tones, but most of all, confidence, in which Remy was swimming. As such, he sported a pale yellow button-down, thin and draping against every chiseled feature under the fabric, the sleeves rolled loose to his elbows. It wasn't tucked into his jet-black slacks, but complimented nicely with his shiny black belt and shoes. Remy knew he was attractive when he looked in the mirror. Everyone else knew he was attractive when he sauntered through the campus roads. Scott, less arrogant and making up for it in diffidence, strolled beside him.   
  
"Are you nervous about your date?" Scott asked simply.  
  
Remy shrugged. "Naw, not really. I've been on a few blind dates. Sometimes deir sexy, sometimes deir dogs, but I always manage to have fun wit' dem."  
  
Scott looked thoughtful. "Heh, maybe you're not as shallow as I thought."  
  
"Let's not start jumpin' to any crazy conclusions now, Summers." Remy grinned as they approached Marion Leigh.  
  
  
  
  
Notes: We're going to find out a lot about our characters in the next chapter, as you can imagine. I know some things may still seem confusing at this point, like about the prep school or the students or their backgrounds, but alas, don't give up hope. It's coming! 


	3. That Kind of Girl

**Four weeks ago**  
  
Jean stared at the small zero-three on the heavy door standing tall before her. Could this be her room? With the throbbing bass and screaming electric guitar emanating from inside? And was that...bagpipes she heard? Could *this* really be her room?  
  
The young redhead sucked in a deep breath and gripped the doorknob. Inside was another girl, full-figured and pretty with long dark curls that bounced freely as she stepped and twirled around the small dorm to the beat of her music. She spun until she faced Jean and, upon noticing her, shrieked and immediately burst into giggles.  
  
"Oh mah Gawd!" She grinned, making her way to her stereo and turning the volume knob until the sounds lowered as if being drained from the room. It was about then that Jean noticed a young man sitting on her roommate's bed, his back against the wall and legs sprawled across the spread. He gave her a quick glance-over followed by a small nod of hello. Jean blinked. Her roommate addressed the boy. "Get outta here, Francis. Can't ya' see yoah scarin' the gal?"   
  
His lips turned into a small smile and he pulled himself off the bed to leave. Jean's roommate let the door swing slammed behind him and she turned back to her. "Hah. Sorry about the music." She crossed back to her stereo and snatched the C.D. from the player, holding it up and stating proudly, "Celtic rock, believe it or not. Ah highly recommend it." Jean squinted...Enter the Haggis. Never heard of them. "Ah was just unpacking when you came in. Hope you don't mind- I took the bed beside the window."  
  
Jean shook her head, straightening her knee-length skirt, pleated and gray. "No, that's alright." She watched the girl scurry from her suitcase on the bed, to her closet, to the suitcase, to a dresser drawer, and back again. Jean cleared her throat. "What did you say your name was?"  
  
She spun from where she was putting strawberry-patterned thongs into the top dresser drawer. "Ah never did! Ah'm sorry!" She stepped fast toward Jean and extended her hand. "The name's Elle Rouge, but you can call me Rogue. Put her there, sistah." Jean smiled despite herself and shook Rogue's hand. She liked this girl's warm, rich accent and her amicable appeal.   
  
"Jean Grey."  
  
Rogue nodded and looked over her new roommate: thin body like delicate lilies and velvety blue eyes. "Aw, honey, you bettah stick with me or you'll get eaten alive heuh."  
  
Jean laughed out loud. "Why do you say that?"  
  
She shook her head. "Just trust me. Take a sit down. Ah have some Jolly Ranchers and Peppermint Patties in that drawer if yoah interested." She pointed to the nightstand between their beds. "Ah'll be done unpacking in just one sec and then you can go ahead and get started."  
  
Jean sat perched on the edge of her bed, legs crossed primly at the ankles as her eyes roamed their small room for the first time. Rogue's side of the dorm was funky and stylish with a bulletin board collage and a small laptop open on her desk. Her walls were plastered with photos of old film stars including Greta Garbo and Marilyn Monroe. Jean's eyes wandered back to her roommate. She reminded her very much of one of those film stars: a voluptuous, green-eyed beauty. Jean felt brittle and very girlish next to her bodacious opposite.   
  
"Are you a senior?" Jean asked.  
  
Rogue shook her head. "Naw, a junior." Jean looked surprised. "Ah know- look at me strutting around the place like Ah own it. One of mah very good friends graduated from heuh last yeuh; that's how I know so much about it." Jean nodded as if to say, "Ohhh."   
  
"Was that your boyfriend?" Jean asked.  
  
"Who, Francis?" She tipped her head back. "Ha! Puh-leeze girl, I am finally free! You must be crazy!"  
  
Jean scrunched her eyebrows. "Free?"  
  
Rogue sighed. "Gawd, wanna heuh a sob story?" She continued before Jean could respond. "When Ah was thirteen, mah daddy caught me in the backseat with Cody Lock. He was older, sixteen, and he had a car; Ah thought Ah was in love." She bit her lip to surpress her rueful smile. "Anyways, we weren't doin' anythin' wrong necessarily, just kissing a little and...well, you know. My daddy 'bout had a fit, though."  
  
Jean leaned slightly forward, unknowingly. "What did he do?"   
  
"Damned fool shipped me off to an all-girls' Catholic boarding school! Can you believe it?" She chuckled and rose from where she'd taken a seat beside Jean on her bed. "But now Ah am free, thank Gawd, and the pickings are lush, sweetheart."  
  
Jean giggled. "I'm happy for you. Where are you from?"  
  
"Can't you tell by my accent? Boston." Jean blinked. "Kidding! Mississippi."  
  
Jean seemed interested. "Were you born there?"  
  
"Born and raised, but you can imagine how Ah stick out like a soah thumb with all ya'll New York people. My daddy is from Texas, but after he built himself from the ground up with his oil business, he traveled clear up the rivah and that's how he met my momma." She faced the mirror and absently tucked and un-tucked strands of chestnut hair from behind her ears as she chatted. "The problem was that she lived in Mississippi and he was all the way down in Texas. So," she sighed, "he sold the oil company and moved on up to be with her. Ain't that sweet?"  
  
Jean nodded dumbly, overwhelmed but comfortable with all of the given information. She felt awkward for not sharing her own life story, but Rogue soon gave her a chance. "How about you, Cherry-Top? What's your story?"  
  
Jean shrugged, fumbling with her suitcase nervously. "Gosh, I don't really have anything...like that."  
  
Rogue perked an eyebrow. "Gosh?" She grinned. "Oh man, Ah'm gonna have to keep close eyes on you. But really...tell me about yoahself."  
  
"Really, there's nothing. My father was good friends with Charles...uh, Professor Xavier before the professor died last year, and I've pretty much known that I was going to this school my whole life."  
  
"So yoah daddy's a doctah or somethin' like that?"  
  
Jean shook her head. "Yes, a doctor and a professor."  
  
"A professor here?" Rogue questioned, fishing into her drawer for the bag of Peppermint Patties.  
  
"No, at Harvard." Jean finished, looking away. People expected so much from her after she made that fact known.   
  
"Oh," she responded simply, tossing a candy to Jean. "Well, now that we ain't strangers, Ah think we'll get along just fine."  
  
  
**Present**  
  
Jean discovered that though Remy was stunningly attractive and quick-witted, it was the shy Scott that she immediately took a better liking to as the night progressed.   
  
Scott, for his own part, adored the attention he was receiving from such a lovely, and unsurprisingly intelligent, girl. After only approximately forty-five minutes in the small, bluesy-jazzy restaurant, they had found their own, quieter table in the corner, illuminated by blue electric candlelight, to discuss politics, religion, splendor, love and art, and all of the vast knowledge a teenaged mind possesses. They complimented each other splendidly: where Scott brought sensible viewpoints on Democrats and economy, Jean laid on their table literature and Renaissance. Principles and romance- a beautiful friendship.  
  
Rogue and Remy had left half-an-hour before, claiming that "dis place just ain't as fun as I remember it." Scott and Jean nodded knowingly and let the southerners take their leave.   
  
"I guess we'd better start heading back. It's almost quarter 'til twelve." Scott remarked, glancing up from his watch. On the school grounds by eight on weeknights; twelve on weekends. She nodded tiredly and Scott noticed that even in the dim light, her hair now slightly limp against her small shoulders and make-up not as fresh by the end of the night, she was still the very lovely girl he'd watched from afar behind encyclopedias.   
  
They paid for their virgin drinks- the best they could get at sixteen and seventeen, though Scott suspected Remy of slipping through the cracks somehow- and left the small club. The school was a short walking distance and the early autumn air felt good on their flushed cheeks.  
  
Scott decided it was best if he walked her to her dorm room. He didn't care if it was childish or patronizing to her; it was gentlemanly in Almond, New York. He'd be fooling no one if he told himself that he hadn't wanted a goodnight kiss or some such romantic notion. After all, it had always worked on the after-school television series. But alas, his prize never came. She toyed with the doorknob and mumbled a pleasant goodnight and thank you, then turned and shut the door behind her.   
  
Scott's shoulders slumped a bit, but his spirits were far from crushed. If anything, his faith was renewed: she just wasn't that kind of girl. And wasn't that a relief?  
  
He stepped quietly down the hallway, so as not to wake anyone, when the door to room zero-three reopened behind him. He spun, half-hoping he'd be greeted by long hair and a coy smile. He did see longish hair but the smile was far from coy...cocky was a more accurate description.  
  
"Remy?" Scott's eyebrows furrowed.   
  
The Cajun held a finger up to silence the younger boy. He peeked back into the open door. "Night, chere." Rogue stood behind him, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on his mouth. Scott caught a glimpse of Jean inside the room, avoiding his eyes but clearly making herself visible by being situated in his narrow line of vision. He chuckled inwardly at that.  
  
Rogue shut the door behind Remy and he regarded Scott with a different grin than that which Scott was used to. Where they were typically debonair and assertive, this one was purely... ecstatic. Almost goofy. Scott shook his head. This guy was a different card every draw.  
  
  
  
Inside Room Oh-Three, the girls prepared for bed quietly. Between brushing Scott off, which she didn't even want to think about right now, and brushing her teeth, she had found Remy tying his left shoe and Rogue running a wide-toothed comb through her hair. Surely her roommate hadn't...'gone all the way' on the first night. Jean didn't like to delve into other people's lives but knew that if she did not ask, it would tear at her in the night.  
  
"Rogue," she began. Her voice was a little cracked from forgetting to swallow while she contemplated.  
  
"Yeah sugah?" She replied.  
  
"You and Remy didn't, uh...well, I don't want to be nosy but..."  
  
Rogue grinned. "Are you asking me if we had sex?" Jean absently rolled her pajama pants to accommodate her tiny waist, nodding. "Aw honey, no way! Ah may be hungry for some touch, but Ah'm not easy. Mah momma raised me bettah than that."  
  
Jean was relieved. Thank God for that. She rolled the word around in her head. Easy. 'That kind of girl' was dirty. Was cheap. A slut. Whore.  
  
She shivered. No.  
  
  
**  
  
"Not even a kiss goodnight?"  
  
Scott had somehow dragged Remy out of bed at five the next morning to show Scott around the weight room. The Cajun figured that since he was already up, he'd might as well stick around and show off.  
  
Scott shook his head, his legs making full strides on the treadmill at a fast jog. "Nope." He shrugged. "But I'm just not that worried about it."  
  
"Geez, homme, I'm sorry. If I'd known she was going to be like dat, I wouldn't have set you up."  
  
Scott rolled his eyes. "Yes you would have."  
  
Remy smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I would have. You two are just too perfect for each ot'er. Give her time; she'll come around. I've had plenty of girls like dat. It just takes time."  
  
"How much time?"  
  
Remy snorted, slowly lowering a thirty-pound dumbbell in his right hand. "Damned if I know; I was just tryin' to make you feel better. I've never had a girl not t'row herself at dis god you see before you!" He stood from one of the various benches arranged in the room and headed for the door. "Well, just as I suspected, dis is boring. I'll be in bed." He crossed to where Scott was and quickly added, "And if you really want to impress the Virgin Mary, you're gonna have to do better dan trot." He punched a few buttons on Scott's treadmill and the machine revved into a much quicker motion, the belt speeding by until Scott was sprinting on top of it.  
  
Scott just laughed and kept up pace.  
  
  
**  
  
Noel Mason, like his brother Dickie, had the drive to get ahead in life. Their father, Victor Ian- Ivan to his confidants, Ivan the Terrible to his inferiors- made sure that ambition had been instilled in them before they could even grasp the concept of corporate domination. The twin brothers had beautiful prospects, unquestionably. After graduating from Xavier's Prep School, they were bound for Yale, after their father. From there it was Mason Industries and from there, the world. "If you can think it, you can do it, boys."  
  
Therefore, it was unusual for Noel to be sidetracked on his way through the Cassidy Common Room on his way to his next course, as it was extremely rare, if not impossible, for the Mason boy to be sidetracked by anything.  
  
But he had been.  
  
Peering over the balcony at the small, few luncheon booths below, he caught sight of a girl, seated at a table and stabbing her straw into the milkshake from which she sipped. He noted that she continuously stole nervous glances at the clock that towered over the billiard and ping-pong tables not far from where she sat.   
  
It was also unusual for Noel Mason to gawk.  
  
But he did.  
  
He settled his ravenous gaze on her. The notorious determination that ran in him could be seen dwelling in his smart gray eyes. His blood heated, watching her. She excited him, with her low, low gray plaid pants, exposing a good portion of her full, supple hips, and her tight white tank top, stretched to the limit around her chest.   
  
It hadn't been long until his staring had been interrupted by another figure sitting across from her at the table. Noel frowned, recognizing the person as Remy LeBeau. He watched them chat, picking up her subtle body language. The slight thrust of her neck, letting her fingertips trace daintily over her throat, teasing the LeBeau kid and everyone watching. He watched. So she was Remy's cunt? Not for long. Noel Mason wanted that girl. Noel Mason would get that girl.  
  
*  
  
Meanwhile, at the table below Noel, Rogue greeted Remy with a pretty smile. "Hey there, handsome," she said brightly.  
  
"What's up, chere?" Remy wouldn't admit that he'd been a little bit worried about this meeting. She'd sounded so serious when she approached him after first course. He'd watched her saunter up to him with her books, looking fine as ever. She immediately told him she had to talk to him after fourth course when they both had a good hour break before their next class.  
  
Now he sat before her, breath unconsciously held. "Remy, first of all," she began, "Ah don't want you to get the wrong impression about any of this."  
  
He nodded, "Alright," though he had no idea to what he was agreeing.  
  
"Ah just wanted to talk to you about what's goin' on between us," she continued. "Aftah you left the othah naght, Jean brought a very important issue to my attention. You've probably gathahed that Ah'm not a virgin, but Ah do have morals and just because we got a little hot and heavy the othah naght, Ah don't want you to think Ah'm real easy or nothin'."  
  
He shook his head fervently. "Non, non. Not at all, Elle."  
  
She nodded. "Ah hadn't thought you did, but just in case. And Ah think we should take things a little slowah. Ah like you a lot, but Ah don't want to charge headfirst into anything so quick. Is that okay?"  
  
He grinned. "O'course. Not a problem at all." He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Can I at least kiss the hand that holds my heart, though?"  
  
She bit her lip, smothering a grin. "Gawd, yoah terrible!"  
  
  
**  
  
The dress code consisted of any sensible outfit with any combination of the school colors: black, white, and gray. Xavier was a lenient and kind man, though, and like every other rule, the dress code could be bent. After the new Dean Kelly stepped into position, he too allowed the kids to don the occasional navy blue or khaki or, if they were feeling particularly bold, red. He immediately noticed that that girl Elle Rouge, whom they called Rogue, had already taken it upon herself to push the dress code to the very limit, and she didn't seem to be causing any major distractions. The school's standardized test scores were at an all-time high and he didn't wish to mess with a good thing.   
  
Jean, however, did not mess with the rules. If they said black, white and gray, darn it that's what she wore during school hours. Currently, she sported a sleeveless white button-down tucked into her matching white slacks with a small belt buckled securely around her tiny waist, and a black cardigan draped across her small shoulders. Legs crossed under her desktop, she stared down at her solid black leather sandals from the small boutique she often visited in Annandale, and tapped her pencil nervously. Her professor was late. Her attention perked at the hushed whispers from the row of students in front of her. A small cluster of about three girls spoke excitedly, their heads gathered at the center of a small, gossiping huddle.   
  
"...n so much trouble! No way he'd risk it."  
  
Jean stopped concentrating on her bobbing foot and strained her ears to hear. Thankfully, a fourth girl approached, plopping her books down and asking, "Who wouldn't risk what?"  
  
"Professor Cash would never risk his teaching career to have an affair with a student." The tallest and blondest of them announced matter-of-factly. "But damn, I sure wish he would."  
  
The late arriver crinkled her brows. "Who said he was?"  
  
Blondest scoffed. "Monica said she's heard rumors going around." She rolled her eyes dismissively.   
  
"I swear it's true!" She shrieked.  
  
"Where did you hear it?"  
  
Jean listened intently. This was interesting.  
  
Monica shrugged. "Candy told me she's seen some stuff," she mumbled, brushing nonexistent lint from her brown suede vest.  
  
"God; Candy! That girl is so drugged up and fucked up and God knows what else. You can't believe a word that slut says," Blondest spat contemptuously.   
  
"C'mon, Barbie. You're just still pissed at her for sleeping with Noel when you two were dating."  
  
Jean blinked. Barbie? That couldn't really be her name, could it?  
  
"Well wouldn't you be? Noel loved me until that little bitch stole him from me."  
  
Jean could hold her tongue no longer. "He didn't love you that much if he was cheating on you, honey," she blurted.  
  
All four bodies twisted in their seats until all four, pretty blond heads had turned in the direction of Jean. She suddenly felt very small. 'Barbie' gave her a cursory glance-over, strict uniform and all, and narrowed her eyes. "Listen, ladies; Pippy speaks." She shared a snicker with her friends and turned her heavily eye-shadowed eyes back to Jean. "When I want your little opinion, I'll be sure to address you, okay, Pippy?" Her tone was slow and condescending. "But that's highly unlikely as I doubt you've ever been laid in your life, Frecks. Okey dokey?"  
  
Jean licked her lips, unable to retort. Popular, respected, and adored at her old school, she didn't know how to react to blatant teasing. She ignored them. They huffed in disgust and turned back toward the front of the class just in time to see Professor Cash step easily into the room from his office.   
  
Brought up a nice girl, Jean would never sink so low as to loosen the top-most button of her shirt or hike up her skirt to a little above mid-thigh or sit in the very front row and conveniently keep her legs slightly and insinuatingly parted when the dashing Professor Cash stood in front of the class to lecture. In his early to mid thirties, he was a handsome fellow in every sense of the word: strong chin, high cheekbones, deep, thoughtful eyes rimmed with thick, inky black eyelashes. He took a girl's breath away, including Jean who still occasionally entertained romantic fantasies of candlelight dinners, long walks on the beach, etc. etc. etc. She doubted, however, that her fellow female classmates' thoughts were quite so pure.   
  
  
**  
  
Rogue popped a Goober into her mouth. "So Ah told him Ah think we should just take it slow for a while."  
  
Jean eyed the chocolates yearningly. How did Rogue eat so much and maintain such a gorgeous figure? "How did he react?"  
  
"Oh he was real great about the whole thing." She tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. "The truth is Ah don't want to tie down to one guy so soon. All those years Ah spent at St. Margarets, Ah felt trapped. Don't get me wrong- that don't mean Ah'm gonna go hoppin' into bed with every guy Ah see, but Ah just wanna, you know," she shrugged, "play the field for a while." She settled back into her pillows. "Ah wondah how long Ah'll last, though," she said, her glittering green eyes focusing on something far away. "The way he makes me feel, just bein' around him. Gawd..." her voice trailed off. She turned suddenly to Jean, sitting up and eyeing her roommate. "Jean, can Ah ask you a personal question?"  
  
Jean looked up from her textbooks. "Sure, go ahead."   
  
"Well, Ah was just wonderin'...are you a virgin?"  
  
Jean closed her eyes for a brief second. "That seems to be the topic of the day. Yes." She swallowed. "I am."  
  
Rogue nodded, flopping back onto her pillows and chatting away again, the somber mood fleeing as fast as it had come. 


	4. The Champagne Room

Hehe. Obviously, I suggest you go on back and look at the previous chapters before for a little refreshment before moving on with this one 'cause it picks _right_ up.

Jean took mental note of a quote in the book she held, cup of coffee in her other hand and sitting at a Commons Center table. She raised her stare to people-watch for a moment and let her eyes focus. 

"Hey, what're you reading?" She turned her head to see Scott stepping inside from The Green, a large, lush part of land centered on the campus for social gatherings. He swung his book-bag into a chair and sat in the one adjacent to her.

"_Frankenstein_, actually." 

"Ooh, Shelley's slightly conservative comments about the immorality of creating man."

"More like her feminist viewpoints on how a man shouldn't attempt to do a woman's job."

"Creating a human? Ohhh, heh, never thought of that." Pause. "Like cream in your coffee?" He nodded to her cup and then mentally slapped himself. _Real stimulating conversation, Summers_.

"Yeah," she responded, but it was slow and detached as her eyes were looking at something, or someone, approaching. Scott followed her gaze and saw a curvaceous blonde pressed against Professor Cash in what looked to be a desperate attempt to hold his attention as she walked beside him across the Commons. "Do you know that girl's name is Barbie?" Jean finally said.

"Barbie, really?" Incredulous, Scott could nevertheless see the resemblance. They watched the young girl frost the professor with more flirting before he kindly excused himself and abruptly changed direction. Jean smiled to herself. Scott scoffed. "Isn't that disgusting? The way she's just…"

"Throwing herself at him? Yes, very. But, what can we do?" She grinned and turned to engage in some real conversation as she was never one to gossip. Her mother taught her better than that. "So you think you understand _Frankenstein_, do you?"

"Do you _like_ chemistry?" 

Rogue looked up from where she was re-inserting lead into her pencil. "Excuse me?"

The attractive interrogator cracked a grin. "Chemistry—I'm kindly offering my brilliant services as I happened to notice your grimace of pain when the professor was reviewing the syllabus."

The belle bit her bottom lip, a devastatingly sexy tactic she'd learned that had sweetened her path throughout the years.  The boy fell for it, melting into a genuine smile from his initial cocky grin. "I believe yoah asking me to be yoah partner, boy."

"I have a name," he stated.

She shrugged. "Ah'm shoah you do."

He watched her, slightly indignant and very turned-on. He eyed her short, dark skort and highlighter-yellow tee-shirt. She remained eyes forward, smile tugging at her plump, pretty lips, aware of his presence from the corner of her eye and loving every bit of the attention. He knew it. "Well do you want to know what it is?"

She started out of her pretend reverie, dramatic and still biting that maddening smile. "Know what _what_ is?"

"Dickie Mason." He offered his hand, confident. She succumbed to the smile playing on her features and returned his handshake. 

"Elle Rouge."

"Ooh," he sang. "How exotic."

"Ah'm a very…interesting person," she affirmed. "So you really a chemistry geek? Because I could shoah use one to be my partner, if you are."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Mmm, let's see, first place science fair winner, all-state Scholastic Science Bowl, attendance of MIT's summer physics course offered last year…shall I go on?"

"Please, stop. Yoah head will smothah us all if you keep goin'."

Jean settled into her seat in ethics class, as distant from the Barbie brigade as possible. It was useless. Periodically, the girls would sneak peeks back at the redhead and share a snicker, particularly when Jean would respond correctly to a question presented by Professor Cash. "She is _such_ a slut!" she would hear them whisper. A conservative suburban princess, Jean abhorred the thought of a soiled reputation and so would not answer a question for a considerable period of time thereafter. 

Today's discussion: abortion. The class squirmed as a long discussion and hurt feelings were inevitably in store. Jean knew only a little factual information on the subject, but when Barbie loudly pronounced that "a woman has a decision to have as much sex as she wants and to do whatever she _so_ chooses with her body. I mean, for God's sake, it's the two-thousands," Jean gritted her teeth. The two-thousands?

 "It is just that mentality that is degrading our generation of women. If you have no respect for yourself, at least have the courtesy to have it for the rest of your sex." Her voice was quiet but heard, and while she looked at no one but the pen resting on her desktop, she did not have to. 

The room was silent. Barbie sputtered, her creamed complexion reddening. Infuriated, she bolted upright. "You little _bitch_!" 

"Woah, woah," Professor Cash patted air. "Let's settle down!" 

The tone-signal rang and the students, reluctant, shuffled out of class, Barbie's friends ushering her out with "She's not worth it" and "Forget the freak."

"Miss Grey, can I see you a minute in my office?" Professor Cash spoke from his desk at the front of the class. She stopped and turned, nodding slowly and heart pounding inside the hollow of her chest. She followed him into his office and watched as he closed the door behind her. "Have a seat." She took a seat on the small couch against the wall, hands tucked under her white, thigh-reaching dress. 

"What did you want to tell me?" She raised a hand to toy with the black bow tied just under her breast. 

He watched her fingers "Well, Miss Grey, I wanted you to, uh…"

"Yes?" She perked her auburn brows, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"I know Barbie is a little—"

"Obnoxious? Conceited? Ignorant?"

"Yes, she can be all of those, and well, I just wanted to apologize for her behavior and commend your for handling it so well out there."

Jean rested back into her place on the couch, the skirt of her dress inching that much higher up her creamy legs. His eyes took obvious notice. She smiled at that, twirling a strand of silken hair around her little finger…wrapping it and twirling it and wrapping it and twirling it, slowly, sensuously. Professor Cash's tongue grew wet and heavy in his mouth. She scoffed. "Gregory, stop your drooling for God's sake."

He moved to where she was and sank to his knees in front of her, his hands resting on those pretty thighs he could not see enough of, parading around in her sweet little skirts and jumpers. 

"I've got to get to class," she said, flippant, still twirling that strand, unmoving and her blazing blue eyes dancing playfully. She parted her legs slowly, enticingly. He squirmed, his chest brushing against her knees. She loved the control over him, powerful and sexy. Jean had never controlled anything before, but upon moving to Xavier's School, learned that her sexuality, as a pretty seventeen-year-old, was in fact very powerful indeed. 

The Professor glanced at his watch. "We have a little time." His thumb brushed the damp outside of her panties. She tipped her head back into the pillows, a contented sigh signaling her approval and a small giggle at his stubble against the sensitive skin that surrounded her wet sex. "Make it quick. I'm still only half-alive from yesterday."

One hand atop his blonde head, and the other twirling and wrapping…wrapping around her little finger. 

"Woah!" Rogue's books slid in all directions on the floor. She steadied herself from the blow and looked to see with whom she had collided. Rogue sucked in a breath; the woman was approximately six feet tall and, under her stiff gray skirt suit, carried a built stature right down to the thick ankles traveling into her clunky gray heels. Her hair was slicked into an unforgiving bun atop her head and her wide, black eyes hidden beneath a pair of thick-rimmed, tree-trunk colored glasses.

Before Rogue could sputter her apologies, the monster of a woman snapped, "Just _what_ do you think you are wearing, Miss….?"

"Rouge. Elle Rouge, ma'am." Rogue looked down at her sunny top; yellow was certainly not a school color. "I was, uh…"

"Just about to march _right_ into your dorm and change that appalling outfit into something respectable." She cocked an eyebrow and sniffed. Her voice was even and steely. "Really, I don't know what they do in the South, but I can assure you that we do not run around like trash here at Xavier's Academy." With that, she stalked off, throwing just one thing over her shoulder. "The next time I see you donned in that filth will result in your immediate dismissal."

Rogue scoffed, glancing around her to see who witnessed that disgusting display. Spotting her chemistry partner, she brightened. This boy was sweet. "Hey!" She waved her arm. "Gimme a hand, will ya'?"

Noel stopped, annoyed at the obnoxious calling. He glanced to sneer, but found the girl he'd watched from the balcony just a few days ago! "Hey!" He turned and proceeded to help her collect her books. 

"Thanks. Man, that woman was a monstah!" Rogue chatted, slightly uncomfortable with the silence. Didn't Dickie remember her from chemistry? And he was staring at her so strangely. Growing up beautifully in a small town with hot-blooded boys on Mississippi nights, Rogue knew what that look meant. 

Noel was pleased that she approached him. She obviously had taste and, smartly, did not wish to waste his time. "Who, Mrs. Foxworth?" A quick shrug, straightening himself again. She thanked him with a swift smile and nod; he continued. "She's just a bitch. Mr. Foxworth hasn't run over that in a good three years, indubitably." 

Rogue squinted after the retreating form of the hulking woman. "_That's_ Mr. Foxorth's wife?" Rogue was shocked, as the school's new dean, Mr. Foxworth, was a simple and sweet-hearted gentleman. Obviously, he discovered his opposite in marriage.

The tone rang through the halls and Rogue, flustered, grinned and darted back and forth from where she needed to be and where Noel stood. That sort of erratic, indecisive behavior irritated him, but it could be changed. Anything could be adjusted to accommodate his needs; this too he learned from his father. "Well, I'll catch ya' latah, huh?" She smiled again and spun on her heel.

He watched her go, watched her hips sway under the immodest but undeniably sexy skort she wore. It wouldn't be long now. 

Jean was crossing the small bridge over the campus lake when she noticed Barbie taking quick snapshots of the music center in the distance framed by tree branches.

"That ought to be a good one," she said, pausing to get a moment's perspective. Barbie jerked her head, recognizing Jean's voice immediately. Shocked, Barbie shot Jean a disgusted look before lowering her lens and stalking off.

Jean noticed Scott just a few feet away as she moved to sit on the bridge bench. "That could have gotten uglier," she shrugged.

Scott took this as an invitation and cautiously took a seat beside her. "Photography—who would have thought?"

"Certainly not me." She bit back a grin. "Have you ever…?" She gestured at the scene Barbie was photographing.

He shrugged and then nodded. "I did a little…last year at my high school. But my models wanted to get a little too, uh, hardcore."

Jean's eyes widened. "You photographed them nude!"

He smiled. "That was _interesting_. But fun. But a little hard, too."

"How so?"

"Well, I mean it was so hard to find good models." He stared at her soft and beautifully proportioned body. Her cheeks slightly pinkened while the blood and heat rushed through her. Scott's breath thickened and his mouth hung open.

"Scott, I—"

"No, please, it's me. I'm sorry." His confidence sank. Of course she would never even _think_ of anything at all having the slightest thing to do with him…

She stood, shaking the moment from her hair and collecting her thoughts and books. "See you later."

"So, here we are again."

Rogue smiled without looking up from where she jotted notes on her chemistry textbook. "Heuh we are." She stopped to look at Dickie. "Have you done the homework?"

He scoffed. "Absolutely." The handsome youth whipped out a sheet of paper bearing furtive scribblings within the margins. Rogue peered through long, inky eyelashes. She extended a slender arm to retrieve it, but her partner quickly jerked his possession back.

"Eh, eh, eh," he taunted, ticking an index finger in time. "First, you give me something."

She lowered her eyelids coyly. "Anything."

Intrigued, he cocked his head, his eyes traveling the length of her. "Anything?"

"Of course not." She snapped. "Name yoah price and I'll think about it."

Dickie rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. "How 'bout a date? Tomorrow night? Dinner at, say, Banberries?" It was her turn to look intrigued as Banberries usually ran from $40-60 a plate. Very intriguing, indeed.

"Deal." She snatched the paper. "Yoah very stupid, boy—mixing business with pleasure."

His tongue grew thick in his mouth watching her lips tickle the word 'pleasure'. "Pleasure's all mine."

Class moved quickly after that, Rogue just barely able to keep up with her notes and often having to peer over Dickie's shoulder for his own. However, they proved unhelpful as he already knew most of the lecture and only jotted what he was unfamiliar with, which was little to say the least. What's more, Dickie's handwriting was atrocious and he shorthanded so much of his notes it was like a foreign language to her. He glimpsed her frustration and placed his husky voice against her ear to whisper, "I offer personal tutoring any day of the week."

To which she would glare and reply, "Keep it in your pants."

The tone rang and Rogue, deciding she had had enough of Dickie for one day, shuffled swiftly out of class. She spotted Remy loitering against a far wall and smiled for him to say hi. He was already making his way to her. 

"Hello, chere."

"Hello, swamprat. What brings you around these parts? Skipping class again?"

His eyes widened, a magnificent burning hue. "Who _me_?" She giggled and he asked, "How about I see you again tomorrow? Maybe start a campfire on the beach or somet'in." 

She was prepared to agree when her expression fell. "Aw, Ah'd love to, Cajun, but Ah already agreed to go out with my chemistry partner, Dickie."

"Dickie?" He was incredulous. "Dickie Mason?"

Elle Rouge nodded. "Yes, that's what I said."

"Why would you wanna see a prick like him?" 

She turned to head for her next class. "Ah didn't tell you so you could act like a giant jealous dick. Besides, Ah thought you understood when Ah told you Ah wanted to keep myself…not tied down for a little while. Remember?"

"I remember but…Dickie Mason?" He was received with a cold stare. He shrugged, melting back into his relaxed poise. "Hey, it's alright wit' me, baby. I ain't gonna be tied down, eit'er. Or maybe I will…" he winked. 

She grinned, watching him amble away.

In the deep recesses of the library, on the very bottom floor that was musty and the air damp from below ground-level, Jean stood on the outskirts of the silence searching for a book. The floor was eerily silent as she, alone, stepped soundlessly through the isles. Most of the books were hard-backed and on the covers were void of pictures and only a few words: the novel's title and the author. No captivating snippets: "_New York Times_ bestseller about a small town's reaction to a sordid love affair…the most gripping love-triangle since _Ethan Frome_." Jean preferred the classics. Sex was always more fun when you had to read between the lines for it.

"Boo!" Firm hands clutched her waist from behind, jerking her forward then back in an instant. 

Jean's nerves electrified, clinging to the bookshelf for momentary support until her brain tallied it all up. Gregory behind her, his chin on her shoulder.

"Hello, gorgeous."

"What the heck are you doing?" She asked, catching her breath and still facing her books. She dropped a hand over her fluttering heart, breathing deeply to regain its composure. 

He chuckled. "I knew I'd find you here and I just couldn't help myself." He pressed against the back of her, emphasizing his point. He was broad and rich behind her, his voice hiding a deep undertone of all the things he could give her and all the dirty things he'd love to do to her. 

She could read his mind. She finally turned to face him, his body unyielding and even pressing closer. For some reason, unbeknownst to her, she didn't want this. This was not unusual; Jean was commonly fickle about everything. One minute she adored something with a fervent and breathless passion, the next, she was ambivalent. "Gregory, I think we should stop this. It's dangerous for both of us...you especially."

Professor Cash shrugged. "I'm willing to risk it."

Jean didn't _want_ to risk it anymore. Treacherously, her mind swept over the sweet, warm moment with Scott earlier today on the bridge; he'd made her giggle and she got him to confess something about himself. That moment had been first kisses and tire swings to Jean, and she admitted to herself that she loved it—loved the moment in its pure and warm perfection. Then she was back in front of Gregory, his hands on her breasts and tongue on her collarbone. "Gregory, Gregory," she tried to pull herself away but he firmly pressed her back, his kisses increasing in fervor. The heat, the moist, ever-surrounding insistency consumed him and with him, her. She hated it. She hated it because she was a slave to it. Slowly, she responded to his advances, cooing and stroking his hair and shoulders, her thighs slightly parting to accommodate where he was pressing against her. 

He threw himself back, gazing at her with passion-drowned eyes. "Turn around," he said softly, thickly.

She did as she was told and felt him hike her skirt around her hips, bracing her hands on the bookshelf again. 

She had to stifle her moans so Level E of the library could remain a semblance of silent, but still she felt a small audience somewhere in the wings…probably her conscience. 

This time, Noel was prepared for his sexpot to approach him. He had been watching her lying on the Green, listening to some god-damned hippies strum their guitars. He pretended not to see her and continued his walk and she, predictably, noticed him in the growing dusk and ran to catch up with him. "Hey!" She trotted up beside him, her cheeks glowing and grinning widely. 

He nodded. "Hey. Feels good out here, doesn't it?"

She nodded, "Yeah, it's great. Ah love fireflies. When Ah was a little girl, Ah used to catch them in jars and pretend they were Tinkerbelle. You know, the fairy?" He said he did. "Well anyways, my parents were horrified and they made me let them go…bastards." She snickered at her own curse word, which Noel, to his surprise, found remarkably…_adorable_, almost so much as the cut-off jean shorts she wore that were riding up her silky thighs. He let his mind picture her shimmying out of those little things for him in his room, in a private viewing.

"So are we on for tomorrow? How does seven sound? You pick me up at my dorm?" She questioned, scratching a newly acquired mosquito bite on the back of her left shin. Boy, did Dickie have his mood swings she thought. In chemistry, he could be such a sweetheart, but other times, he was just creepy.

Noel liked this girl; she got straight to the point. He was always appreciative of a girl who took so much initiative to ask _him_ out. And why not? It was obvious she wanted him (what girl didn't) and there was never any reason to ever beat around the bush. "Sounds perfect," he replied.

And they parted.

And soon enough, the next night came. 

"Scott! Just in time!" Scott did not feel, however, as if he had arrived "just in time." On the contrary, he felt as if his timing was very poor, indeed. He had just entered his dorm to find it cluttered with five long-legged, big-breasted females donned in what was certainly not the school uniform. "Meet Catherine, Claudia, Savannah, Gwendolyn, and Eden." The statuesque beauties turned their heads and smiled their hellos. They were lounging in various places around the room—two in Remy's bed with him propped against the headboard and two in Scott's own bed, limbs entwined, and the fifth—Eden, Scott remembered—sitting on the floor, back settled against Scott's bed and between the legs of one of the girls lying horizontally on it. All but two were giggling and they seemed only buzzed with flushed pink cheeks and glazed, pretty eyes. The other two looked perhaps a little more than buzzed, or even drunk.

Scott sighed. "Remy, it's only," he glanced at the clock on the wall only to find his view obstructed by a pair of purple, lacy panties draped over it. He tried his watch, "nine 'o' clock. Surely you could not have managed to get these girls drunk and…who _knows_ what else already."

Remy shrugged, paused, and grinned, winking at his roommate devilishly. "Oh ye of little faith. Scott, Scott, Scott." He removed his arm from around a girl's shoulder who only mumbled slightly in a thick and dreamy stupor. "You fret too much, brot'er. Here." He put his small, crystal glass in Scott's hand, the latter holding it thinly and a small distance from his body. Remy poured himself another glass from one of the bottles positioned on the Cajun's desk. "Bottoms up." He tipped the amber liquid into his mouth and swallowed the burn down, down his throat. Fuck Rogue. He poured another glass and took another swig.

"What if we get caught with this, Remy?" 

His roommate shook his head slowly, no small feat for him at this point in drinking. He lolled his head to the oblivious princess beside him. "What'd I say? Fret, fret, fret." Remy peered distantly, past the girl and the wall behind her. "Fret, fret," he whispered as if the word was miraculous to his tongue. He grinned slowly. "Wow…"

Sitting in the chair at his desk, Scott sipped his own drink. What the hell, he had nothing better to do, that's for sure. He had not seen Jean since yesterday's bridge encounter and had thus the distinct feeling that she was avoiding him. "What's your name again?" He jerked his chin toward one of the women lying on his bed, long, glossy blonde strands, thin and bronzed. Her heavily-painted, expensive blue eyes gazed at him, and past him, and through him. 

"She's Claudia." Eden spoke from her spot between Claudia's legs on the floor. "She's not, um, in a very conversing mood." Scott wondered fleetingly what would happen if Mr. Foxworth discovered drugs in their dorm. Were they even _in_ this dorm? "Do you remember my name?"

Scott did, but he felt like being cruel. "Which one are you?"

She moved to face him, on her knees and digging her elbows into his comforter. "I don't believe you. You know my name, now say it."

He was taken aback. Then he grinned. "Heh, you're right. Eden."

She stood, surprisingly quickly, and moved in front of him. She cupped his cheek and pressed her thumb into his lips. "Let's get out of here, hmm?"

Scott was ready to agree when the phone rang. It was Jean. So he didn't go with Eden. In fact, what Jean said made Remy furious, Scott concerned, and all the girls had to be herded out of the room immediately. 

Two hours and fifteen minutes earlier

"Can I borrow some cologne?"

Noel raked his gelled fingers through his platinum strands. "I don't care. Don't use the Nautica, though. I'm wearing that tonight."

"I wouldn't use that piss, anyway." Dickie grinned over at his brother, who didn't seem amused. What the hell, Noel was never amused. "Ooh, hot date tonight? Or just that slut Candy?" 

"No. A cunt so luscious you'd have to see her to believe her, I swear to God."

Dickie raised his brows. "I believe that, but I would still bet that mine is hotter." He leaned back against the wall and his voice was wistful. "A body like," he flailed his hands in round, sensual poses, "woah."

Noel nodded. "A pair of big, pretty lips I'd like to see wrapped around my cock. Tits, too."

"Uh-huh. She's got long, brown hair, kind of like that girl we knew back in school, remember her name…Carol?"

Noel paused. Thoughtful. "And a southern accent?"

"Oh my God, man! How'd you…" Dickie stopped. "Fuck."

The twin brothers were silent while twenty seconds ticked away hard on the towering grandfather clock just outside their door in the hallway. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Dickie thought. "Noel, listen. I _know_ her. She's my chemistry partner."

"So what? I'm supposed to give up _my_ night for you?"

"But think, goddamnit. She obviously thinks we're the same person if we both think we have a date with her. It's _not_ the first time it's happened, come on. What I'm saying is I _know_ her so it must be you she's getting confused." 

Noel pondered this, then proceeded to approach his brother and slam his fist, hard as iron, into his twin's jaw. 

Dickie stumbled back, cradling his saggy, bloody mouth and his eyes frantic. "No…Noe…" Noel hit him again, with his left hand this time, hard against Dickie's right cheek and creating a sickening _crack_ against the bone. 

"You want to ruin this for me, I know." Noel's voice was paced and deliberate as he stood tall over his hunched brother. "But you know, and I know, that I always get what I want." His sharp eyes scanned the room and rested on their shared portable phone. Noel picked it up and gave Dickie a final blow to the head, his brother slumping as if boneless to the ground upon impact. Noel casually swiped the phone of its bloody smudge and tossed it on Dickie's bed. When his brother woke up, he would think twice about fucking with Noel's intentions ever again.

And now, Noel intended to go on that date with the sweetest pussy he had ever seen. That girl was going to beg for more when he was through with her.

AN: Nah, the twins aren't reflective of anyone in X-Men. I love your reviews! they rock my face off


	5. Whores and Ballerinas

Elle Rouge was considered a tough girl in her hometown, and the very thought of the spoiled young ladies  from St. Margaret's gawking at her ability to escort a spider outside still usually made her smile, if even just a little.

But tonight she did not smile. She did not even move from where she hugged herself on her bed. She heard Jean's voice, distant, next to her, brows furrowed concernedly as she remained planted beside Rogue and awkwardly stretched a slender hand every moment or so to stroke the older girl's  hair.

Rogue swore to God—not that he was paying much attention to her tonight—that if she was ever alone with Noel Mason, she'd show him just why they called her the Dixie Bitch from St. Margaret's Catholic School. "Ah will claw his fucking eyes out, Jeannie."

Jean nodded dumbly, unsure of what else to do. They didn't have things like attempted rape in her suburban neighborhood. She frowned; what a damned baby she had arrived to Xavier's Academy as.

Rogue gripped a pillow sitting beside her. The date had started well enough, dinner at Banberries and then a stroll about the Yardley gardens. She had tried to pique his interest with topics he might enjoy, and so she mentioned his many accomplishments in science. However, "Dickie" did not seem impressed with that topic, which Rogue had found only slightly odd at the time but now berated herself for not taking heed. Instead, her date wrapped up the occasion after only an hour, and proceeded to escort her to her dorm room.

"Well, thank you for dinner. It was amazing."

Cold eyes, glaring, ravishing her. "I want some more. I mean," he let himself into her room, "I want dessert."

"Oh no you don't." She grinned, pulling on his arm.

"Come on, I want to stay." He guided her into the room and softly clicked the door shut behind her. "You know, get to know the real you. What're you hiding, little Southern belle, hmm?" He traced a finger on her jaw line and let it fall just over her right breast where he stroked a nipple with his thumb through her sweater.

She slapped it away. "Can't take no for an answer, huh? Well this just got a little _too_ fast, even for me. I don't know what kind of girl the boys think I am but I ain't _that_ willin'."

He wrenched her against his body, his hands groping her all over now.

All over, God, he was everywhere.

Rogue shuddered as she recalled it. She pushed him away only to have him return with twice the intensity. Truly fearful now, she opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped his palm firmly over her mouth. "Don't make me cover these beautiful lips, you beautiful slut. God you're so fucking beautiful, you little slut." His eyes betrayed an insane lust as he grinded his lap into her. Her thin limbs flailed in his arms. "You like it, don't you? God, yes, yes, I know it, yes. Say, 'I fucking love it, Noel.' "

Noel! Rogue realized her mistake in an instant. She maneuvered her mouth open a little wider until she felt a fold of flesh between her teeth.

"Ahh! You bitch!" Rogue flinched, recalling the back of his hand fly into her left cheek with breath-sucking weight, hurling her onto Jean's bed. "You little cunny bitch! Fucking whore, ahh!" His hand spilled thin crimson ribbons and it wasn't until then that Rogue had tasted the bloody metallic tang on her top row of teeth. She was shocked, unmoving on the bed while he muttered curses and bled on himself. Her muscles were tight and she dared not even breathe. God, would he ever leave? Leave, leave!

And he did. With a startlingly quick calm, and a jerk of the neck to crack the tension and regain composure, he was gone. Rogue remained still for forty-five minutes until Jean stepped into their room—smelling like sex, Rogue recalled fleetingly.

Jean had made one phone call and suddenly Rogue was the center of attention. In fact, it was the only time she could remember being just that and _not_ enjoying it.

Remy paced the heart-shaped hook-carpet that was centered in the girls' dorm room. His jaw was tight and his hands busy cradling each other while he cracked his thin but strong knuckles. Jean placed a hand on his forearm. "Remy," she whispered, "please calm down. I called you here hoping you could maybe calm _her_ down, keep her relaxed." And just like that, in a liquid transformation, his eyes were widened and his face muscles loosened considerably. He almost cracked an easy grin, had it not been so inappropriate.

"Aw, Red. I'm just dandy." He turned to where Rogue sat and moved beside her, wrapping a supportive arm around her smaller frame. "The question is, are _you_ going to be alright, chere? 'Cause you know, li'l ole Remy just can't stand it when you're upset."

Scott took this opportunity to approach the female he was most concerned about. "How you feeling?"

Jean smiled weakly. "I'm really afraid for her." She cast a glance at Remy. "And for Noel, a little, to tell you the truth. But damn," she bit her lip, "if that bastard doesn't deserve it."

"Oh, he does." Scott sighed. "He'll get what's coming to him."

Jean was making her way into the girls' smaller auxiliary gym just the next day when she noticed Noel Mason himself unlocking his car door in a nearby student parking lot. Figuring she had nothing to fear in such a public setting, she approached him with bold, furious steps. "Noel?"

He looked up and grinned. "Uh, Dickie, actually."

She faltered, but only for an instant. "Well it doesn't matter which one you are. Just tell your brother he's a piece of shit."

The boy folded his arms and smiled. "Is that so?"

"Oh it's certain."

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Grey. I don't think _Mrs_. Grey would appreciate you using those words. Or daddy, either, for that matter."

"Oh shut-up you dickless weed." She paused, astonished at her own words.

His eyes brightened. _Feisty_.

Satisfied, she spun and stalked away from him. "One last thing," he called after her. "I am Noel; and you'll regret this encounter the day you die, bitch."

Jean shook her head, unconvinced. She could not, however, shake the stab of his icy remark.

"Hey, uh, is this still my seat?"

Rogue could hardly believe Dickie would even have the audacity to approach her after last night. "I don't think so," she spat through clenched teeth.

He sat anyway. "Aw, Rogue, I am so sorry for the way my brother acted…the way he _is_! Look, I know he's a prick but, honestly, listen, I'm not like that."

She bit her cheek thoughtfully, a habit she'd picked up from some boys back home. "Nice try, but no."

"Oh come on! Why not? What have _I_ done to you besides have a shitty brother?"

She paused. What had he done? "You could have told me you had a brother in the first place! A twin brother, no less!"

"I thought everyone knew about me and Noel. I mean, we don't exactly blend into the crowd."

"Ugh, you're so pompous."

"No, I didn't mean it like that! I mean Noel and I, I mean, our family, our father, he's pretty renowned in this school. The Mason lecture hall and dorm wing are my grandfather's namesake. Look, I'm not bragging, I know it sounds that way." He sought breath and paused, collecting himself. "I know I may seem like a dick, I know Noel certainly is, but this was all just a huge misunderstanding. Could you at least give me another chance at being a friend?"

"Jesus," she huffed. "So damned persistent."

He shrugged. "What can I say?" She frowned. "I mean, no, sorry."

Professor Schmidt entered the room and the class settled quietly.

Dickie leaned in to Rogue, eyes forward. "You're still very beautiful."

"Too far already."

Jean glanced once more over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs of the apartment building. He answered the door immediately and invited her to take a seat on the couch. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thank you, and I don't need to sit; this won't take long." She fingered the shiny black buttons on her red peacoat nervously, her eyes darting outside his large windows to the balcony and then the sea of night and city lights beyond that.

Cash frowned. "Why so brusque? Come on, take a seat." He poured himself a glass of chardonnay and she reluctantly moved to the couch. "Taste this." She falteringly took a sip. "Like it? Here, I'll get you some."

"Gregory, stop. I need to say something." He poured her a glass despite her protests and finally took a seat beside her, his right hand resting on her thigh as he sipped his drink.

She shook her head. "No, stop." Jean squeezed his hand gently before setting it in his own lap. "I'm so sorry, Gregory, really, I am. But," she paused, choking on her words and her throat burning from the alcohol, "we really can not see each other anymore. I feel so…" _dirty_.

"…Frustrated, I know. I feel the same way—not being able to be with you as much as we would like."

"No, no," she shook her head, her face contorted into painful lines. "It's not that at all. I just don't want to be in this sort of relationship anymore."

Cash sneered disapprovingly. "Oh, poor little Jeannie, unhappy so the whole world has to suffer, too. Stop being so dramatic. You can't tell me you don't like what we have together. Christ, I buy you every little thing your heart desires, don't I…don't I? And the sex! Isn't it great? Don't I make you come all over the goddamned place?"

She flinched. "God, stop it, Gregory. It's not those things. Yes, I _would_ be happy with you if we didn't have to keep everything a secret!" She decided not to tell him the whole truth. There was no way she could ever be happy with him, not really. She had come to Xavier's unknowingly similar to Rogue, that is, sexually starved. Her body was blossoming and, unsure of how to handle her emotions and hormones, she accepted the first man to show interest. It was love—as much love as a naïve, suddenly attractive redhead could muster for the first member of the opposite sex to lower his eyelids and speak slow and hotly to her.

"You know what your problem is?" He stood now. "You're so fucking spoiled. And ungrateful!" He swooped to return by her side. "Remember that weekend we stole away to the Ritz? I bought you all those flowers…and that necklace? That _goddamned_ necklace." He shook his head, furious now. Jean bit her lip, her eyes large and worried. He put his hands on either side of her thighs, stroking them all the way to her hips. "And we wouldn't get out of bed until almost noon—all that sex! Wasn't it good, Jeannie?"

His voice was cracked and desperate, but he did nothing to convince Jean. His description of every lascivious detail only served to disgust her even more. How could she have let herself become so filthy? Her mother would have been appalled.

She stood. "I'm sorry, Gregory. Professor Cash." She made her way to the door, leaving him sitting on his sofa. "It doesn't have to end badly. Good-bye."

Just before the door closed behind her, she heard him mutter, "ungrateful bitch!" Jean shuddered. Was she just that? A bitch...a cock-tease; she grimaced at the word. Boys called _other_ girls that back home. But never her…she was a _nice_ girl. The girl next door. As long as no one ever discovered this sordid affair, she could continue to be just that, and perhaps even win the heart of a certain nice boy.

Remy, before even meeting his green-eyed enchantress, had already fallen in love. The engine of his onyx-black, 1967 fastback Mustang purred under his body while he idled around the campus. A swarm of long-legged females turned to stare, beguiling smiles on their full, pretty lips. "Hello, ladies," he tossed them a wave but continued to scan the campus. Aha, there she was.

"Rogue! Rogue, you sweet t'ing, come on over here." She looked up from her chemistry book and vanilla milkshake. Upon recognizing him, she rolled her eyes playfully and shook her head _no_. "Aw, chere, how you gonna do dat to me?" She grinned (God, what an amazing smile!), grabbing her gray sweatshirt and pulling it over her head before lifting herself from her study spot and getting into his car.

"Woah, swamp rat, this car is amazing!" She ran her hands over the leather seats and dashboard. She cast a glimpse behind her. "Wondah how many poor young girls have been cornered back there."

His eyes betrayed innocence. "More like how many times have de girls dragged poor Remy back dere and taken advantage of him? How 'bout dat?"

That smile again. "Ah don't think so."

He noticed her textbook sitting in her lap. "Chemistry—I remember all dat. Called me de chemistry master—dat's what dey called me."

"Oh really? Yoah startin' to sound like Dickie."

Remy's face reflected distaste. "God, I hope not." She shrugged. "Your not still partners wit' him are you?"

Rogue turned in her seat to face him. "So what if Ah am?"

"Jesus, are you serious?" He divided concentration between her and the road. "Rogue, please, are you crazy?"

She straightened. "Um, no, thank you."

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Chere, listen, I know he may _seem_ nice but…"

"Please, Remy, Ah don't need you tellin' me who I can and can not see. Yoah a real nice boy and Ah like you a lot but Ah have got to have mah own space."

"Dis has not'ing to do wit' space! Have all de space you want, but damn, do you have to have it wit' dose fucking twins?! Do you t'ink _I_ want to find you drugged and raped somewhere?"

Rogue's lips tightened into a thin line. "Right heuh is fine," she pointed to a campus corner.

Remy sighed. "Aw, Rogue, don't be like dat."

"Ah said heuh is fine." An uncertain silence hung in the car and she didn't meet his gaze.

He rolled his eyes, frustrated, but stopped the car just the same. "Alright, alright. De lady wants out, she gets out."

Rogue slammed the door behind her, giving him a quiet "thanks" in reply.

"Howdy cutie-pie! Haven't seen you all day," Rogue said brightly to her roommate. Jean smiled, changing out of her skirt and into a tee shirt and shorts. Rogue was wearing a simple cotton two-piece from Victoria's Secret but she still looked lovely, Jean had to admit.

"I want your figure, Rogue." Jean pouted.

Rogue scoffed. "Oh if only you knew how everything has a direct tendency to go straight to my hips." She popped another Jolly Rancher in her mouth and tapped her pen against the open journal on her legs.

"At least you _have_ hips." Jean eyed her own small body in the mirror. Delicate, she thought, like the ballerinas on her dresser back home. But she didn't want to be delicate anymore. She wanted a butt and boobs. Her 34 B's were no longer satisfactory compared to a roommate with 36 C's. Ugh, Jean thought. How can I be so selfish at a time like this?

She turned back to Rogue, who was still scribbling in her book. "Hey," she sat beside her on Rogue's bed. "How are you doing?"

Rogue smiled. "Oh Gawd, please don't make this an aftah school special. Really, Ah'm fine. Ah mean, as fine as Ah can be, Ah guess. Ah don't feel weak, just angry." Her brilliant green eyes clouded over. "Furious, really."

"I suppose I can understand that." She mouthed a green Jolly Rancher. "And Remy?"

"That fool won't give up." She shrugged. "Which Ah guess Ah'm pretty happy about," she grinned. "He's so….Gawd! And that car!"

They giggled. "What about you, Miss Heartbreaker?" Rogue inquired. "I mean, as much as that boy studies, you'd have to be some kind of fuckin' goddess to make him drool all over himself."

"Who?" Jean paused, breathless.

"Who? Scott, of course, idiot!"

"What? You…think so?" Jean furrowed her brows.

"Are you kiddin' me, honey? He has a freakin' hard-on every time someone even mentions yoah name!"

"Ugh, you're disgusting!" Jean, however, heated at the thought. So rumor had it he had finally submitted to a crush on her, hm? Jean pondered her possibilities. She adored Scott, and it felt wonderful to have a pure and wonderful desire like that which he awakened in her. What she had with Gregory was…she shuddered. Filthy. Somewhere deep in her darkest sea of thoughts, she fed the idea of Scott ever discovering her affair with her professor and it ate at her like a guilty, ravenous fiend. She only prayed that a continued, growing relationship with Scott, in all its bright intensity and purity, would somehow drench her soul white.

It was a brisk day in mid-October, chapping the campus youths' cheeks a shade of ripe apple. The smell of pumpkins and harvest was thick in the air as decorations of stuffed straw men and squash pillars were being erected.

Just outside of the large, brick Mason Center, Rogue was helping her art club add the finishing touches to a haystack arrangement topped with homemade ghouls and painted black cats. "Ah always loved Halloween," she said, tucking an errant strand of auburn back into her mussed ponytail. She stole a glance down at her drab jeans and old, knitted hoodie. Gawd, she thought. Ah look a mess.

Someone cleared her throat behind her, distant, but the sound did not register until the voice cleared its throat again, and then again, and then once more until she finally turned to see who it was. Then immediately looked away.

Her heart flopped in her chest like a dry fish. Damn, damn, damn. She bit her lip. Why does he have to come around heuh lookin' all good while Ah stand heuh lookin' like something that the cat drug in?

She turned her face once more, staring at Remy simply standing there with…was that _two_ ice cream cones in his hands? She looked twice; sure enough, he stood there, dumbly, with one scoop of sweet, cold treat in each hand. He was pretending not to notice her, as if he was not waiting for her to come and relieve him of one of his burdens. Was that butter pecan, she saw? Damn again, she thought. He knows my weakness.

Defeated, she rose from her kneeling position beside the hay and made her way to where he stood not ten feet from her. "Hello, Remy."

He appeared startled, but a smirk lay hidden under his burnish, soul-deep eyes. "Why Rogue! What are _you_ doing here?"

She shook her head. "Ah hate you. Now give me that ice cream."

Remy cocked his head. "Why what ever do you mean, belle?" They held each others gaze for an instant, he was pulling her in, before she snatched the cone and began lapping up the quickly-melting dessert. He tugged a shoulder, sheepish. "I guess you could consider dis a peace offering…maybe even an apology. You're right; it's not my place to tell you who you can be friends wit'."

Rogue licked the corners of her sticky mouth, sparing Remy a brief view of her pink, wet tongue, moistening her lips to a sheer glisten. He was forced to avert his eyes.

She smiled. "Ah'm glad you see it my way, Cajun."

"Hey."

Scott glanced up. "Hey, uh, hey, I…well…what are you, I mean…" he positioned himself coolly. "What's up?"

Jean grinned. "I was just seeing if you wanted to go get a cup of coffee with me. If you're not busy."

"No, no, I'm, uh, not busy. You don't like coffee."

Shrug. "You do." Pause, awkward and long. "Are you sure you're not busy?" She questioned.

He sighed, defeated, then managed a forced chuckle. "Actually, I'm notbusy, but rather…well, here's the thing." He lit up, motioning her to pull up Remy's desk chair and accompany him at his own desk where he sat, unfolded something in his hand.

Excited, Jean quickly obliged, leaning into the paper intently. He began, "My friend Glorious…"

"Glorious?"

"Uh, yeah." Scott smirked. "That's his name, believe it or not." She did not. Scott explained that in a brief tangent. "See his parents are real brainy, you know, and they were fluent in Latin…along with a few other languages. Anyways, you've heard the name Gloria? Well, Glorious is simply the masculine form. Neat, huh?" A smile tugged at Jean's lips but she fought to suppress it for fear of dismaying Scott. His face fell anyway. "Never mind; heh, I'm such a fucking geek." He smiled ruefully.

Jean clasped his shoulder gently. "No, no! I thought that was so amazing how you could be so interested and…_knowledgeable_ about just one guy's name." She blushed. "I mean, that's pretty amazing." She was burning all over; her skin was so hot!  She wanted to grab his face in her hands and kiss him all over. "Go on…"

"Oh, right! He has his party every year, a costume party. For…"

"Halloween. I see."

Scott stopped and nodded. "But," he tossed the invitation, "I don't know about all that."

Jean hopped from her chair, her blue skirt swirling around her knees. "What do you _mean_ you don't know? I love the idea! I'm sure Rogue would love it, too. And Remy would have a blast! We should all go…all four of us!" He remained motionless. "That is, if you want to."

Scott leaned back in his chair. He could always wear the costume he wore last year. And if Jean wanted to…No, she made it very apparent that she had no interest in him. Deep-down, she was a tease, and he had a distaste for girls that played with fire. Albeit, he reminded himself, I am not exactly fire…but every man has his limits. And Jean toed them all too often.

"Please, Scott, please tell your friend we will go," she pouted, her lips full and moist. She pleaded with large, blue eyes that knew all too well what they were doing to him. Confusion was too close a confidant of Scott's.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, sure."

Gleefully, she threw her arms around his neck. She smelt like cinnamon and honey coupled with an exotic floral fragrance from a bottle. For the moment, he was content.

So there's that. If you have any ideas about what they should be for Halloween, I'm all ears…or…eyes, I suppose. See 'cause you'll be writing it and I'll be rea—nevermind. And drop a review if you want (please want to!)

Aqua Team Hunger Force Assemble!                                                        


	6. Costumes

"What are you supposed to be—a little gypsy boy?"

Remy looked at Scott from where he stood in front of Marion Leigh dorm number oh-three.

"Are you kiddin' me?" He shrugged his sagging white button-up shirt. "Pirate."

Scott shook his head. "Gypsy."

Remy dangled the gold hoop hanging from his left ear furiously. "Pirate!"

The door swung open. "Oh, and what a fabulous pirate you are, Remy!" Jean grinned.

"Thank you," he replied, a smug smirk thrown at Scott as he made his way easily past the redhead.

Scott swallowed the lust that had puddled in his mouth when seeing her—clad in a sleeveless, downy white dress that touched the floor, complete with a low, circled neckline and empire waist that bared her lily-white chest and accentuated her supple, pillowy arms.

"Angel," he breathed.

She chuckled, turning slightly to reveal two, feathered extensions from her back. "Yeah, how'd you guess?" She raised her arms to situate a glittering, sequenced crown atop her ruby ringlets that hung like velvet ropes against her back and shoulders. "Rogue, too, only…"

"What de hell is dat?"

"My costume, stupid!" Rogue stepped from her closet to reveal nothing much at all.

Jean bit her lip. "Rogue is going as a Victoria's Secret angel."

"And don't Ah just fit the part?" She posed, grinning through her thick honeyed accent. She wore a white, silk bra with a cluster of dazzling rhinestones across the top, and matching panties, garter belt, garters, and sheer snowy stockings traveling down the length of her long, creamy legs to her white stiletto heels.

Remy shook his head. "You can't go out like that."

She grinned over her shoulder, moving across the doorway. "Watch me."

……………

"So where is dis," Remy lifted an arm from the wheel to produce air quotes "party, exactly?"

Scott rolled his eyes from the backseat, Jean smiling in response. "Just hop on the Interstate and keep on for about an hour. I'll let you know."

"An hour!" Remy settled into the leather seat of his Mustang and stole a glance at Rogue. She cocked an eyebrow. "Mm," was all he could muster.

She shook her head. "Get ovah yoahself." Turning her head, "I love yoah costume, Scott."

"Heh, thanks. It's really old—pretty corny, really." He shifted the metal patches on one of his forearms.

Rogue grabbed the silver masquerade from his hand. "I like the mask, too. Nice touch." Her gem-green eyes flashed mischievously. "A perfect knight in shining armor, huh Jean?"

"Uh, I," she smiled, her face flaming pink, "perfect, definitely."

Scott stumbled, "Thanks."

…………..

"Just turn here…here…here!" The wheels shrilled in protest.

"No problem," came Remy's blasé response, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Don't worry your pretty li'l head, cher." He winked at the Southerner by his side.

"Hold it, mistah."

"Aw, damn it, Rogue. No, no, no."

She shoved her palm out defiantly. "Now."

"I won't drink," he promised.

"Now!"

Groaning, he relented the keys to his heart, that is, the Fastback. He spun to face Scott and jab a finger in his direction. "One mark on her, and I will Fucking. Kill. You."

"So what, _I'm_ designated driver?" Scott placed his hands on the back of Remy's seat, anxious to move. "What if I want to drink?"

The other three laughed outright.

Once inside, Remy immediately felt at ease. "I'll be damned," he muttered. "It really is a party." The music pumped, vigorous and hot, kids in the living room gyrating against one another. Remy smiled, his sexuality radiating in waves and women already giving him sideway glances. Rogue sighed disgustedly.

"Ah'm gonna go find something fun to do, rat." She shouted over the music. He watched her go, an inward debate occurring between following, and the collection of female butterflies outwardly leering at him now. Shaking his head, he followed the belle.

……..

Scott stood silently beside Jean in a wide corridor, half-leaning against a wall. Their eyes kissed and blushed periodically, but they mostly stared ahead or made small talk with select other wallflowers.

Scott cleared his throat. "You, uh, well, I already told you this…but you look really, really nice. Just like an angel."

She flashed him a genuine smile. "Scott, you're too much."

He grinned back. "Too much what?"

"Too much man for her to handle!" Screamed the scantily-clad maid that fell onto Scott's chest, her breath reeking of alcohol and vomit. She met his earthy brown eyes with her own glazed, dilated pupils and mumbled while he struggled to keep her standing, "Why don't we go upstairs and I will show you what a real woman can do." She jabbed her tongue into the side of her mouth in lewd, pacing motions.

Scott scoffed, finally dumping her on the floor. "Sick," he said plainly before glancing once more at her costume and adding, "Go clean yourself up."

"So do _you_ drink, Scott?" Jean asked sweetly once the maid had stumbled from them.

"Not tonight," he replied sullenly. He brightened immediately. "Not that I'm exactly an alcoholic, but…" Shrug.

Jean found herself more than slightly surprised. A drinker? She suspected him dry as a bone. 'Book by a cover,' she thought. "Well I could go for a drink, I suppose," she said, already moving toward the mass of bodies in the kitchen.

……..

Remy had already assembled a small crowd for himself. "Okay, so de rules are simple: you lose a hand, you take a shot."

The group nodded easily. Remy glanced at where Rogue was sitting on a couch, cards fanned in her hands, long legs crossed enticingly. 'Have to get her into a game of strip poker, later,' was his wicked thought.

A few ladies sauntered in bearing tall bottles of various vodkas and rums. Remy clapped his hands, once and loud. "Alright! Now we may begin. So who _doesn't_ know how to play poker? No one? Goo-"

"Um, Remy," came Rogue's sweet, questioning voice. He turned to face her, resisting the urge to pounce her.

"Yeah, chere."

She grinned, sweeping a lock of hair from where it had fallen into her face. "Ah…Ah don't know how to play, believe it or not."

Remy made his way quickly beside her. "Aw, dat's okay. I won't hold it against you." His eyes flashed. "I will just teach you, eh?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "My hero," she said flatly.

……..

"Scott! Scott!" The knight looked up from the punch bowl to see a tall, powerfully-built young man with glossy, onyx-colored curls clamoring toward him against the crowd of dancing kids.

"Hey, Glorious." Scott smiled ruefully. "Great party. It's uh…"

"Fucking awesome, I know! Hey, weren't you a knight _last_ year?" He took a sip of something red. "You bring anyone?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, a few kids from school."

"Any ladies?" He grinned impishly.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. Two."

"Two!?" Glorious tipped his head back, the bulky, cheap crown on his head slipping a little. "Scott's a player!" He screamed at the ceiling.

Scott blushed hotly. "Glorio-"

"Hey Scott," Glorious managed between an internal belch. "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

Scott nodded before moving away. "Well-noted."

"Wait, wait, Scott, my brother." He slapped him on the back. "Step outside with me."

Scott quickly scanned the room, unconsciously searching for Jean. _How would she feel_…

"Eh, I don't…" He sighed. It was nice. And something, _something_, had been calling at him all night. Tugging. Gnawing. He was going through one of his…things. His phases.. Periods of…despair? Longing? Hunger. For what?

"Alright." He fell into step behind Glorious until they were upstairs, through a bedroom, past the French doors of a balcony, and standing outside where the brisk fall night air could gently flop their hair and cool their cheeks, hot from the party atmosphere.

Glorious leaned against the stone balcony, the blackish sky and twinkling stars specked behind him. He was fumbling in his pocket. "Have you done it since last summer, man?"

Scott shook his head. "Focusing on sch--"

"School work, I'm sure." Glorious chuckled dryly. "I wouldn't expect anything else, Scotty." He pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket and then two, crinkled joints from it, putting one between his own lips and handing Scott the other.

Scott retrieved it casually, easily lighting it with Glorious' lighter and taking a long, practiced drag. He exhaled smoothly. "Good," he said simply.

Glorious dipped his head back until he was facing heaven. "Yeah, I know." He looked back at Scott. "Love to stay and chat, brother, but I've got a party to host." He made his way to the French doors, the fag still lit between his lithe fingers. "Enjoy." He threw over his shoulder, "Oh and one more thing, man. Those two little girls of yours? The yellow cups will get you as far as you want with them…"

Scott was left to wallow in his own, sticky stupor. Half of him cursed himself for being so weak—he had promised never to do it again; it was immature freshman behavior. The other half…was noting how incredibly _spectacular_ the stars were looking tonight. For God's sake, why can't they _always_ look like that? He was convinced that if people took more time to indulge themselves in stars, there would be considerably less wars. No doubt.

He shook hid head. Focus. He had been stupid to do this. After all, he _was_ designated driver.

But no, he would surely be fine by then, and why not shut-up…enjoy it while it lasts? And _fuck_, those stars! He wanted to just fucking _have_ them. All of them. In a jar.

He snickered quietly, picturing a small jar crammed with the stars on his bedside. And then, the music. He could feel it pulsing, bass-hungry, beneath him. _In_ him. He stumbled to sit down on a balcony chair, tipping his head back to _relax_ in the sound.

Sound.

Sound.

Scott decided there was never enough sound. People just didn't appreciate it. Or color, either, for that matter.

Scott soon became bored with that idea and tried desperately to remember what he'd _just_ been so fond of. It was something outside….and pretty. He looked around him. Nothing.

No, focus, damn it. He could think of it if he just tried…Glorious came, lit grass, told him…told him…

Oh my God. Scott shot from his seat, the momentum nearly knocking him over. He had to find Jean. He had to find Jean. Fuck, fuck, if something was happening to her he would fucking kill himself.

He slowly made his way inside again, having long-forgotten about the stars and war.

………..

Rogue stood, hands on her hips, mouth twisted and her eyes clouded with fury. Opposite her, Remy nimbly shuffled a pack of cards.

"He deserved it, Rogue," he said flippantly. Remy was referring to the wide-shouldered blond boy nursing a broken nose with an ice pack in the kitchen.

The game started innocently enough, a few kids deliberately playing bad hands for an opportunity to drink. It wasn't until Rogue lost her first hand that the atmosphere took a violent turn, for the blond boy suggested strip poker as he playfully reached and unclasped Rogue's rhinestone bra, followed by roars of drunken laughter from what appeared to be the rest of his football team, if the jerseys were any indication.

Embarrassed, but still smiling half-heartedly, Rogue hugged herself and escaped to a corner where a few girls shielded her body while she composed herself. Wordlessly, Remy stood, executed a few long strides to the boy, balled his fist, and proceeded to slam it in the center of the jock's face. The blonde reeled back, his palms already bloody from where the red rivulets streamed onto his skin.

"Damn it, Remy!" Rogue said now. "You are _not_ my fathah, and even _he_ wouldn't have done such an immature thing! Yoah like an ape!"

"Not here, Rogue," Remy said smoothly, still handling the cards but at least having the courtesy not to shuffle them anymore while she vented.

Her eyes widened. "Don't talk to me like that!"

"Just don't embarrass yoahself in front of all these people, is all I'm saying."

She huffed. "Don't worry, Remy. If any of these girls are gonna sleep with you, me yellin' at you ain't gonna ruin yoah chances."

Remy tossed the cards to the carpet, where they landed in a neat pile, and proceeded to hoist Rogue over his left shoulder, her legs kicking in the air and her arms beating into his back. "Let's take this somewhere else," he suggested, moving from the crowd in the den and up the stairs. He opened the last door at the end of the hall to the master bedroom and stepped inside.

There, he dumped her unceremoniously to her feet, where she immediately began thwapping his shoulders and chest with her hands. He playfully refracted them, finally grabbing her elbows. Defeated, she couldn't help but giggle.

"Yoah a jerk."

He shrugged. "Sorry if I overacted, chere. I just…" he gritted his teeth, showing the first of an emotional response to Rogue's harassment.

"I know; I'm not really all that angry" She finished for him, then laughed humorlessly. "Why do they always pick on _me_?"

He reached out and encompassed her smaller frame against his own, holding her in a long hug.

…………

Slothful and dumb, Scott shuffled among the party-goers, determined to find Jean. She was not in the kitchen, as he had hoped, and, not having made an alternate plan, he circled the den, the living room, and the kitchen on the main floor of Glorious' house. Each room seemed both vaguely familiar and foreign to him at once, despite having scanned them all several times. Frustrated, and near a hysterical panic (he would never forgive himself, ever!), he stopped, lifted a distant hand to cup his mouth and shouted, "Has anyone seen the angel redhead?"

The music pumped, and though only a handful of people turned to look at him, he was absorbed with a sudden sense of paranoia. Fearful now, he shrank back into a corner to collect his bearings. He wanted to just crawl onto a couch and pass out, but he had a mission! He had to actually _accomplish_ something in this state. Finally, someone replied, "Is that the one with the gypsy or the one passed out downstairs?"

Scott leapt to action, instinctively finding the stairs and descending them as quickly as he could, but in reality moving at only a leisurely, cautious pace. The basement appeared to be a room strictly for recreational purposes, with mostly guys doing various activities: playing billiards, playing videogames, watching pornographic films.

Scott eventually found Jean lying on a futon against a wall, unconscious. She appeared unharmed, to which Scott allowed himself a sigh of relief, but as he urged her to sit-up, "C'mon, we're getting out of here," he thought he caught a glimpse of the kids at the billiard table giving him dangerously disapproving looks. Shaking his head, he reminded himself of his incompetent mindset, but continued imploring Jean with renewed vigor.

Though with closed eyes, she was somewhat responsive, so Scott assumed whatever she had been drugged with had not yet taken full effect. _Were those guys waiting for her?_ Again, he cleared his head. He was in no position to take them on, assuming his befuddled assumptions were even correct. He stood, attempting to support her own balance, but she sank beside him into a heap on the futon. She grumbled, furrowing her brows.

"I'm sorry," he said absently, his mind reeling.

……..

With just the pallid moonlight pouring into the room, Remy and Rogue found their way onto the king-sized bed, Remy propped on an elbow over Rogue while they talked. They mused how it must have been strange for Scott mixing them—his new life, with Glorious and these kids—his old life. Rogue then asked Remy what he would show her if she were to visit his home, and he listed a series of people and places familiar to him.

"I swear, you would love N'Awlins," Remy affirmed. "I promise to take you dere and show you everyt'ing." She replied with a contented _hmmm_. Remy's breath caught in his throat. She looked so beautiful, her creamy limbs sunk into the down comforter, her auburn tresses splayed around her petal-soft cheeks and glittering emerald eyes.

"So yeah, I love you." He said calmly, stroking her knee.

She chuckled throatily. "I doubt that. Or I don't doubt it, but I doubt I'm the first."

He shook his head. "No, you're not the first. But I love you the most." Remy's face betrayed no uncertainties; he was not afraid of love or admitting its existence where it thrived. Yes, he loved her. It was simple and wholly true.

She seemed shocked at the idea. "Remy! How old are you, like seventeen?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Does it matter? Look, I guess you don't love me yet, and that's okay. I can see you're new to it all."

Rogue's chin slightly jutted in defiance. "I'm probably just as experienced as you."

"I'm not talkin' about dat, cherie." His ministrations had moved to her inner thigh and Rogue squirmed under his touch. "Talkin' about love."

"Then no, Ah guess Ah've nevah been in love."

He nodded once, as if expecting that answer, but he didn't stop stroking the length of her leg, his smooth palm gliding nicely over her toned limb. He seemed un-phased by her rebuttal of love, for Remy was confident that the love he felt for her would not have manifested had he been positive that eventually—soon—she would in fact reciprocate it.

The room was silent for a whole five minutes while Remy teased her, petting her thighs and belly, letting his fingertips trace over her skin. His erection was pressing against his pants, a few weak inches from her soft hips. He looked at her face to see her eyes fluttered closed and her plump lips clamped shut, a pleading moan caught in her pretty white throat.

"Remy," she sighed, her own palms pressed to the side of her leg and clutching the comforter in restraint. "I feel," she began weakly, the heat swelling from inside her, "Gawd, I feel so… sexy," she breathed.

Remy smiled to himself, satisfied, and tucked a thumb into the seam of her white panties before moving to follow it with a kiss.

………..

Sticky, and his own skin stifling from the sweat and heat trapped inside his costume, Scott finally managed to half-carry, half-support Jean to the Fastback where he gently guided her inside and propped her in the back seat.

He sighed, leaning onto the car and inhaling the crisp air deeply to cool his burning lungs and body. Transporting Jean and her mass of wings and dress was no delicate task. He shrugged out of the silver patches that comprised the top layer of his costume and threw them on the floor of the Mustang. Jean's head lolled to a side, a dry, distant rumble emanating from her closed lips.

Scott, now simply drifting in his placid trance and only just realizing the familiar chalkiness in his mouth and the harsh, grating pain in his throat, eyed Jean where she sat in the car. Her skin glistened in the pallid starlight, and he finally remembered the stars. They were bursting from his heart, electric and magnificent, when he looked at her this way. She was motionless, her hair in gentle tangles around her eyes.

Scott inched nearer, resting his hands atop the car while he peered closer into the backseat. God, she was beautiful. Absolutely marvelous. Her shapely, rose-petal lips opened to let a small sigh escape; Scott's cock grew hard in his pants.

He slid into the backseat beside her, engrossed in the display she was unconsciously making of herself. His groin throbbed, the hunger in his veins growling to be sated; if only he could just do it right in front of her—just make himself climax right in the car with her, watching her, making her an unconscious witness to his hungry lust. It would feel amazing, and his conscience was muffled by the screams his intoxicated brain made. But when Jean shifted just once more—a slight re-situation of her upper body—Scott reeled back, dumping himself out of the open car door and onto the gravel driveway.

From there he scrambled, backward on hands and feet, before plopping, defeated, on the gravel that bit into his palms. Horrified with himself, he crammed a knuckle into his mouth and settled it firmly between his teeth, staring at Jean all the while.

_I hate myself_. He screamed it silently until the statement reverberated through his skull like a wide, hollow church bell.

As if hearing his bellowing thoughts, Jean herself roused from her sedation. Her head felt heavy and her legs seemed distant, but she managed to turn her face and peer at Scott on the ground. Her eyes conveyed the confusion behind them, and he swiftly hopped up and fled to her side.

"Jean!" She heard his voice as if through water but could see him mostly clearly.

"Scott," she heard herself say, her own voice seeming muffled as well. She wanted to ask him what he had been doing on the ground, looking pitiful enough to cry, and why her body seemed like a living-dead vessel.

"Shh. Just take it easy. Are you okay?" He moved to arrange her weak body a little more comfortably, but he stopped short of putting his hands on her, whipping them back instead and climbing into the driver's seat. "It's almost four and I haven't seen Remy or Rogue at all. They can call a cab." And with that, Jean watched as he started the ignition and the darkness of late night/early morning flew by.

………..

Remy had been kissing Rogue for what felt like forever. And she loved it. Just full, long moments concentrated on her mouth, his hand planted innocently against her crotch, undemanding, patient. He was waiting for her to initiate anything further, but driving her madly into it by teasing the length of her full lips with his wet, warm tongue, rubbing his thumb in small circles on the outside of her sex.

Rogue's hands remained planted on either side of Remy's head, fingering his hair with delicate ministrations or stroking his deliciously rough stubble. Her body was weeping for stronger attention from this man and his sweet caresses between her thighs. Rogue arched into his touch, her kisses increasing in fervor. She felt him smile against her mouth while he complied to her body language. _Bastard_, she thought.

Remy was unconscious with pleasure. Rogue's skin was as soft as glassy seashells; he couldn't resist stopping between breaths to drink the sight of her, pearly and divine. He slid a hand behind her to easily unclasp her bra. His hair fell in thin strands against the film of sweat on his forehead, his eyes burning embers and setting Rogue's passion into fireworks. Encouraged and thrilled by her permission to advance, he began kissing the length of her salty-sweet neck, over her throat and down to the valley between her breasts, eventually maneuvering each one into his mouth. His erection pressed even harder against the pants of his costume when she squirmed enticingly under him and let a throaty purr escape her. The sight of her reacting to him made it hard for the playboy to resist stripping her and sinking the insistence between his own legs into the hot lust that was forming between her own.

"You like dat, non?" Remy parted from her to say, breathless.

Rogue jerked to attention, cheeks pink and slightly embarrassed at being caught indulging with such abandon. Her mouth was agape and her eyes wide and bright with shock. "Remy!" She swatted his arm. "Don't make fun of me!"

He caught her hand and lurched forward until his whole body covered the length of hers. Rogue instinctively parted her legs to accommodate the mass, and he sank between them. Her head fell into the pillow when his erection smothered into her crotch. "Oh," she gasped when he didn't relent. Instead, Remy could handle no more teasing. He continued a fluid movement against Rogue's damp sex with the bulk of his erection, making her writhe and bite her lip, clutching the sheets beside her. "Remy, God. Please, please Remy."

That was all he had waited to hear.

……..

"Oh, Scott, it's so marvelous tonight!" Jean sang from the backseat. Her mind was swimming with blue and her eyelids plunked heavily against her cheeks when she blinked, but she was, for the most part, okay. Scott told her about the yellow cups and Jean was, while a bit shaken, mostly unsurprised considering the way she felt. She draped her arms over the back of the passenger's seat and looked at Scott while he drove, face-forward. She really had a thing for this boy. He had grabbed her and clung to her. "Isn't it marvelous?" She heard her own voice drop low and thick.

The unmistakable sound of rough terrain rumbled from under the tires. "Where are we?" Jean peered out the window to see the car parked on a cliff and wondered why she had not realized Scott had been driving up a mountain for the last ten minutes. "Oh!" She gasped when she spotted the view. It was a great, dark expanse, dusky hued royal blue and inkish black from the fast-approaching dawn.

Scott cleared his throat, still not meeting her eyes. "I think it's best we stay here until you…er…sober up. If we are going to get caught arriving at dawn by a Resident Advisor, I'd at least like you to be able to hold your own."

Jean fell back into her own seat with an unceremonious _thud_ and a slight flop of her long, milky limbs. "Looks like a make-out point to me…maybe your old school's or something?" She paused, searching him for a reaction. "You bring me here to lay a move, Summers?"

Appalled, Scott shot her a look before exiting the car and throwing the door closed.

Dumbfounded, Jean remained silent for a moment, her mind still swimming in blue. Clambering to leave the Mustang herself, she moved to sit beside Scott on the hood of the car, arms folded tersely against his broad chest. They remained there, soundless, for a moment while the occasional car passed on the freeway below them. It was a long time before they spoke until Jean finally turned to him, resting a thin hand on his shoulder. She found her voice, deep and choked. "Whatever it is, I swear…" her throat caught. "I swear, I'll understand."

He turned his head to face her, searching the depths of her pond-blue eyes. "Jean, I…Damn it, Jean." He ran a hand across his face, turning away from her. "I saw you just sitting there," he began, still faced away so Jean had to strain to hear, "…so…_beautiful_. God," he shook his head, his voice weak with the pain that could kill a man. "And I was fucked up," he spat sourly, "too fucked up to think about anything but myself. And you were just sitting there, out of it, _defenseless_…_unconscious_, and I swear, if you hadn't woken up, I would have…" his voice trailed, but then he whipped to face her again, unfolding his arms in his defense. "I would never hurt you!" He cried. "I wasn't even thinking…I would never, _ever_ touch you. I just wanted to…to watch you be _so_ beautiful."

Jean swallowed; her mouth was dry. She fell in love with his purity as he spoke. If only he knew what a devious, polluted creature _she_ was, he would know his faults were entirely forgivable. Granted she was allowing him penance regardless of what he did because the damned fool that she was had fallen in love with him already. She wanted to tell him, too. Tell him she loved him and cradle his face and dote kisses all over him. But she wouldn't do that to him; if he knew what she was—dirty, tainted, whore—his purity of spirit could never accept her.

"Scott, I…" she began, grabbing his hand, "I don't hate you at all for this. You are an entirely decent, good guy. And I know that there is something…here…between us, I mean." Her voice was barely above a whisper and Scott reached to console her before she could continue. They held each other for a moment on the hood of the Fastback, rocking gently and he rubbing her back.

Jean let herself be absorbed by him, wanted to cry and hate herself, and unthinkingly lifted her face until it was inches from his. "Kiss me," she pleaded. _Kiss me and make me as good as you_. Scott leaned into her, burying his hand in her mass of red hair and pressing his lips to her yielding, rosebud mouth. She sighed into his breath after they parted, instantly taking herself back, regret etched into her face.

Scott tensed, berating himself for believing forgiveness. "You do _not_ want me, Scott." She began. "You don't know me, but I know that you do not want me."

He leapt to his feet. "Jean, give me a chance!" He stood before her, dipping his head to meet hers. "Look, we can go slowly. As slowly as you need." He fought the urge to stroke her arm. "I will wait…" he searched for the words, "as long as it takes, I swear to God."

She started to shake her head but stopped at seeing him, desperate and—_God no_—in love. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him, wanted to _be_ with him. But she was fooling herself; he would eventually find out what a slut she had been and hurt her as much as he could. And she could not blame him; she had to expect it. "Maybe," she heard herself give weakly.

Scott wanted to advance, but 'maybe' was all he could hope for tonight.

………

Remy stuffed some bills into the cab driver's hand. "Keep the change…for bein' so quick about it."

"Thanks, buddy." And with that, the yellow car pulled off, leaving Remy clad in his black pants and a wife-beater tank-top, his lovely girlfriend wearing the Cajun's pirate/gypsy button-up shirt from the night before over her own scandalous costume. Five-thirty a.m. was breaking onto the horizon and the couple walked, arms linked, to Marion Leigh.

"Ah think Ah got it from heuh, thanks," Rogue offered when they reached the building entrance.

He stopped and wrapped arms around her for an instant, leaning to plant a long and thorough kiss on her inviting red mouth. "And I still love you, 'case you were curious."

She grinned. "And wouldn't you know it, Ah've pretty much fallin' for you, too. Good night, Remy."

"G'mornin', chere."

AUTHORS NOTE:

So, phew! Sorry it took so long, but I really, uber appreciate all the comments from you guys. I also appreciate, specifically, the comments from fellow authors; how awesome it is to see writers I find so much more talented than myself reviewing my very own work. Hurray!

I also really appreciate honeysuckle (sus!)

And of course, if the band you're in starts playing diff'rent tunes, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.


	7. Elephant

Scott stared at the photo clutched in his numb, heavy hands, the manilla folder in which it arrived still on the desk where it was dropped. The small clock on Remy's empty desk behind him ticked away long, silent moments while he stared. Unmoving. Breathless, weak, confused, hurt. Staring at the single color photograph clutched in his bloodless fingers.

It was Jean. Jean with a man Scott had seen around campus frequently enough—a professor if he wasn't mistaken. He had a tall build, blonde hair and was, in the photo Scott held, having sex with Jean Grey in the campus library. Scott's eyes bore helplessly onto the unmistakable mass of red curls that cascaded against her neck and hung beside her profile like a secret curtain. Though he could only just barely make her face, there was no mistaking her identity; Scott would recognize the thin hands clutching the bookshelves or the sweet, small shape of her body anywhere.

Only this time it wasn't so sweet, with large, strong hands gripping her hips and her shapely butt grinding uninhibitedly into this fucker's lap while he fucked the life (and sweetness) out of the one girl Scott had started admitting to loving and hoping, beyond hope, that she was starting to reciprocate. _Fuck_.

He sat there a moment longer, gritting his teeth in his closed mouth. Of course this was how it happened. Of course. Who the fuck had he been kidding? "Bitch," he spat lowly, cramming the photo into his top drawer and snatching his jacket from the closet, fighting back hot tears.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where is Scott?" Jean asked from across the table.

Remy shrugged, his back to the wall, sitting the length of the booth with Rogue settled against him. "Dunno."

"Why don't ya' call him. Wasn't he supposed to meet us heuh at eight?" Rogue leaned back into Remy while scanning the cozy pizzeria in which they waited, a few blocks from campus.

He scoffed. "What am I, his keeper?" He reached for his cell phone on the table anyway.

"No, I'll call him," Jean spoke, sliding from the booth. "Be right back."

But she got no response. Jean returned to the booth to announce that she would head home and stop by his dorm on the way, "just to check in".

"Right," Remy smirked. Rogue swatted his chest behind her.

Jean stepped into the brisk, autumn air, tugging a cream-colored fleece over her head. For the past few weeks, she had been glowing. It seemed the stars had finally fallen into alignment for her. Her semi-relationship with Scott was progressing nicely. No, they hadn't done much. Hadn't done, really, anything at all by any of her peers' standards. But they had escaped to a lake upstate to camp, and shared pastries from the local "La Patisserie" cafe they visited in the mornings on the weekends.

Jean, nearing the campus now, frowned suddenly. Incidentally, every time she thought of how happy she was with Scott Summers, memories of Gregory swam to the surface and a sick pain immediately stabbed her in the chest. She felt dirty from her fingertips to the pit of her stomach.

It was in this dampened resolve that she caught Scott's form across the Green. She widened her stride and was soon beside him. "Hey!" She called, a tad breathless and aware of her quickened pace even beside him. Was he running from her? "Hey!" She repeated, nudging him this time and smothering a roused guilty conscience inside her. He was definitely upset.

He came to a halt, and Jean swung a step to face him. Scott stood with his hands buried in his jeans' pockets; he'd forgotten to grab a jacket and the early-November weather was creeping in through the dark. "What."

She blinked. _What_. "What?" Her eyes were big with confusion, and ironically enough glittering from the street lamps. Damn it, no Summers. He shifted his weight, then remembered the photo, then shrug off the familiar sting and moved as if to continue stalking away. "Wait!" She cried, intercepting him again. "Wait, damn it!" She lowered her voice. "What do you know?"

He scoffed. "Oh my God, Jean. You're fucking ridiculous." She winced, but he pursued, a half-beat later. "Why don't you just tell me _everything_? Did _that_ ever occur to you?" She opened her mouth to retort, but when she was a few treacherous beats late with an explanation, Scott had already confirmed the truth. "I don't even want to hear it," he said flatly, brushing past her.

Jean turned to stop him again but then stopped herself. What could she say that would help? Jean Grey clutched her fleece and pressed a hand over her watery, wincing mouth. The answer was clear.

Remy leaned against Rogue's headboard, watching her strip her ponytail while connecting her iPod to a Bass Sony Stereo sitting on her bureau. They were full and comfortable from the pizzeria. "What do ya' wanna listen to?"

The Cajun shrugged, toying absently with a pillow fringe. "I don' care." He said throatily.

She perked a brow.

The sound of bass and cello flooded from the walls and Remy glanced idly to recognize the surround sound when the instruments picked up a groove with piano, drums, and various brass instruments. "What is dis?"

She smiled impishly. "It's 'New Orleans!'"

"What do you mean, 'It's New Orleans'?"

Rogue shrugged, moving from the bureau to plop onto her mattress beside Remy. "It's from the satellite. It said, 'New Orleans.' So, you know, it's New Orleans music, Ah guess." She climbed to where he sat and hugged his waist.

"I guess," he responded simply, turning his face to bury it in her auburn curls. He inhaled; her hair smelt like strawberries. He had noticed these things over the last few weeks. Her skin smelt like sugar, which he couldn't explain. It just did—maybe brown sugar. Brown sugar and honey. Curious, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed all the fingers on it, then her palm, and her wrist to be sure, inhaling the whole time. He wanted to breathe her right into him.

Rogue grinned, a little embarrassed but feeling genuinely…cherished.

Remy was not finished. By now he was inhaling and kissing the skin over her collarbone. "You taste good," he mumbled against her. She cracked a smile above his head, his mouth busy at her ticklish throat. "Oh, yeah? What do Ah taste like?"

"Different parts are different, chere." He said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really?"

"_Mm-hmm_. Like here—right here," he paused at the perfect center of her chest under the buttons he unclasped on her gray cardigan, just between and above her breasts. She bit her lip to suppress a smile and peeked down. "It tastes like sweet apples." Adoration shined through Rogue's eyes like brilliant emeralds, but she said nothing. Remy's nimble fingers, followed closely by his hungry mouth and tongue, maneuvered the last few buttons to her sweater and she slithered forward an inch to accommodate him. "Oh, and here…" he paused at her belly button, planting kisses on her entire abdomen and stomach, "like buttermilk." Finally he slid her jeans past her hips and nestled his torso slightly between her long, creamy limbs. He met her eyes and said the next words very slowly, his hands following at an agonizing pace as they clutched her panties. "But here…It is…" Rid of her panties, Remy dipped his face and pressed an innocent French kiss on Rogue's naked clitoris. Her body sparked, as tight and anxious as a hot wire.

The anticipation was crashing waves inside her belly while he continued with his teasing, lolling wet tongue against the tiny, eager center of her; they were lazy, deliciously inaccurate strokes. He was inching her focus away from anywhere it might have been before—to the down pillows behind her, to the warm sheets under her, to the seducing sway of the jazz—to the small button he would not stop assaulting, oh so gingerly, with his slick, wet, thick, hot…

"This tastes like heaven." Remy was on his elbows, staring for a moment. Rogue's breaths had shallowed and her cheeks were flushing pink as petals, her sweater revealing two pearly breasts nestled in a lacy black bra.

Remy wanted to eat her whole with love and lust that very moment. He had slept with a good amount of girls, and women, in just his eighteen years, but none had been as downright beautiful as Rogue. He wanted to be _in_ her; in her life, in her thoughts. He felt a surge of hot blood rush to his already throbbing groin. And he definitely wanted to be deep inside her on this bed, and immediately. But first…

Remy was a gentleman, and wanted to see her squirm a little more anyway. Which he did, by lapping the length of her slit before finally burrowing a sensitive tongue into her snatch, stroking her thighs while she bucked against him. "Remy," she moaned, one hand clutching her pillow and the other palm pressed against his cheek. "Remy," she moaned again. More hot blood surged through him, this time like lava every time she breathed his name in her honey purr. Honey. Purr. More hot blood. Rogue finally came, her body clenching and stretching as she washed away with the tide of her orgasm.

He could have waited, but Rogue was already fumbling with his belt buckle as soon as her head popped up from where it sank into the pillow. The stereo pounded a desperate and excited rhythm, triumphed with a dizzying trumpet. Meanwhile, Remy slid Rogue's cardigan from her shoulders to unclasp her bra. Her high breasts sprung free and he moved to handle them while wriggling from his own jeans. Comfortable again, and naked now, Remy rested on an elbow while his hands grazed and thumbed her silky flesh. She cooed, moving with his own unconscious rhythm above her. She felt his cock rock hard against her naked thigh, insistent and warm.

Remy hoisted onto his palms, finally guiding himself into her; he had had enough of watching her writhe and undress and moan under him. He caught his breath when the hotness swallowed the only feeling left in his body. Hot and wet around his full cock. _Heaven,_ Remy smiled. He slid out his full length before forcing it back in, Rogue arching and crying out, her hips rocking against him. His thrusts gained, and Remy resembled a satisfied king.

"So what's the deal with you and Scott?" Rogue asked later that week, toweling her hair after a midnight shower. Midnight was, by Rogue's recent standards, relatively early; she would almost definitely see Remy later that night, she knew, and she couldn't help but smile and heat at the thought. Rogue was plowing through the school nights on four hours of sleep to accommodate homework, (some) classes, and, very recently, nights that end at ten 'o' clock in the morning, drinking wine and having sex in a bed and on the floor with Remy LeBeau. She was used to long nights at St. Margaret's when, being a partisan procrastinator, she would often find herself sipping coffee at sunrise while tapping idly at her keyboard. She was smart, her teachers told her, if she would just apply herself a little. But Rogue was passionate about other things at almost eighteen years old.

Jean looked up from where she finished her homework for the weekend. She typically tried to accomplish it before Friday night, "just to get it out of the way," she defended sweetly and giggled when Rogue expressed shock.

"What do you mean?" Jean shrugged now. "I guess he's just not interested."

"Is he dating that Eden girl?" Rogue felt a little guilty that she didn't already know, having delved into Remy and rarely surfacing.

"I don't know. Is he?" Jean shrugged. "I really don't know anything; he hasn't called or anything."

Rogue paused, letting her hair towel drape across the shoulders of her tee-shirt. "I dunno, eithah. I've seen them togethah lately and I know she wants his bod." They shared a laugh. "Ah'm serious! Ah know that for a fact."

Jean rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows that."

Rogue shook her head thoughtfully. "He's being a damned fool. Ah don't care what you did to get him so riled up, he doesn't know how good you two have got it together."

Lying in bed later, Jean thought of Scott, standing and smiling, maybe his face a little flushed from running, or the cold. Smelling like deodorant and smart, sexy guy. She sighed. As much as she missed Scott, worrying still more about his knowledge of her illegal affair created an anxious grip on his absence in her life; so far, he had not appeared to tell anyone, specifically the school board, thankfully.

Also, a guilty cloud descended over the redhead when she spent time talking with Rogue like tonight. She had grown to love the young woman over their time spent together just this semester. The two girls formed a sorority having found their intelligent, feminine counterparts in each other, and also shared an excitable, bright sense of humor. Jean hated lying to Rogue, and wished more that she could share her problems with her friend for consolation, but she quickly snapped shut that thought. As far as Jean was concerned, she did not deserve relief from her sins. She had, after all, been raised Catholic.

Scott ran into Eden one afternoon after his United States: Post Industrial Revolution lecture. It was held in an auditorium with exits that spilled into a grand foyer with bay windows. Eden, like many art students on campus, took advantage of the supreme lighting and clean, hardwood floors as a second studio outside of the one on the East side of campus, closer to the dorms. Scott almost ran into her easel propped in the middle of the student migration from class and, after they recognized each other, had lunch with her in the small bistro on the first floor.

It was in that exact bistro, and with that exact girl, that Scott Summers found himself now. He had lunched with Eden almost every day for the past week, in fact, and today Scott thought he might ask Eden to dinner, instead. This was before he spotted Remy ambling toward the direction of the table he shared with Eden, her back to his curious, approaching expression.

"Hey Remy," Scott offered, Eden turning to follow his gaze.

"Scott." He smiled at Eden. "Eden, m'cherie." Remy slipped into one of the small, iron ornate chairs vacant at their small round table. Scott hated the seats and thought they were impractical, not to mention uncomfortable, despite the décor. Remy, however, folded easily into the heavy, thin-legged chairs. "What kind of trouble you kids getting' into?"

The girl scoffed politely. "You'd be the first to know."

"Not me," he shook his head.

"Jean-Luc, then." She snapped her mouth and flushed a little, her eyes darting to Scott.

Scott pretended to misunderstand her implications, for now. He was aware of Eden's affluent background, and her father—a banker, turned lawyer, turned senator—probably knew a man with as many political connections as Remy's father very well. Scott was just a kid from Almond with a knack for mathematics and parents in the PTA for his local public school. Idly, Scott mused how Jean would never condescend him in conversation. He snorted inwardly. _But apparently, Jean's a little fucked up_.

Remy glided past the wound in the conversation. "Well what're you doin' Saturday? My rugby team is holding a fundraiser ball. Everyone should come; it'll be fun."

"Sounds thrilling. What sort of fundraiser?" Scott asked.

Remy grinned. "An auction!"

"Auctioning what?"

"Ourselves! And some other guys have already volunteered, too. Scott, man, don't sell yourself short."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Since when are you on the rugby team?"

"Hey," Remy straightened, his eyes dancing, "as far as my transcript is concerned, I _am_ on the rugby team." Another elusive privilege denied to Scott. "So you guys will come, right?"

Eden nodded, her long dark hair a velvet curtain on her shoulders. "I think I remember Claudia telling me about it."

Scott remained skeptical. Remy eased back in his seat, placid and persuasive once more. "Jean is coming."

It was Scott's turn to straighten. Remy's face was blank and apathetic, but Scott knew he was smirking. "Piss off." Remy grinned again, pleased with himself.

It was Eden's turn to act oblivious.

When Remy excused himself from Scott's lunch date, he immediately fished for his cell phone and punched a text message to Jean.

_R u free?_

_Spiritually speaking?...I'm in the Modlin Theatre—the dressing rooms._

Remy arrived almost five minutes later, his tall frame slipping in and out of the small dressing room doors. He found Jean at a dressing table, hunched over a small stack of papers on her clipboard. Something for drama club.

"What's up, Remy?"

He remained leaning in the doorway to the little room. Modlin hadn't been used for classrooms since it was built, in the early twentieth century. The school, with the support of alumni contributions, had since erected newer academic buildings, and donated Modlin to the theatre department. It was quaint and oddly appropriate as the wooden house, in its New England antiquity, reflected the romantic human spirit illustrated through the performing arts.

"Not much, Red."

"Rogue told me about your auction this Saturday." She was smiling.

Remy's eyes widened. "Will you come? Please? I kind of already told Scott you would."

"Why would Scott care if I went?" She put her pen down, now, and looked at Remy. "If you haven't noticed, he's in love with Eden now, or whatever." The Cajun just shrugged. "What does that mean?" Jean inquired further. Remy could be infuriating; he led you to believe he knew everything without doing, really, anything.

At that moment, Noel Mason, looking lost and a little frustrated, appeared in the doorway behind Remy, making for an unexpected encounter in the Modlin dressing rooms. "Remy," Noel said, surprised and amused. Remy was silent, his jaw tight and eyes forward toward Jean's mirror reflecting Noel's cocky, cruel half-grin behind him. Jean held her breath, silently praying Noel would, for once, just go, but also thankful that Rogue wasn't there. "Does Rogue know you're fucking all her little friends from Marion Leigh?" He laughed, nasty and void, at his own joke before finally disappearing again into the Modlin corridors.

Jean expected a retort, but Remy remained silent, his pupils like angry black storms. Finally, when they couldn't hear Noel's footsteps anymore, Remy met Jean's eyes and said, lowly, "People just aren't _patient_, Jeannie."

Remy's icy tone told Jean that Noel would not have to wait much longer, anyway.


	8. Sexy Kids

"Did you hear about Candy?" Remy approached.

Rogue and Dickie looked up from their textbooks and iced coffees. Rogue was copying her partner's study guide for a chemistry mid-term.

"What happened?" Her question wavered between concern and curiosity.

"She's missing. Since last week."

"Oh my Gawd!"

"Her parents are goin' crazy." Remy leaned into a chair, tipping it, and lowered himself in front of Dickie. "De cops should be here any day, askin' questions, searching your t'ings."

"_My_ things? You're the trashy ingrate," Dickie spat. "Besides, Candy's probably in the city on a coke binge or something."

"That's not funny!" Rogue cried. "Ah hope she's alraght."

"I'm serious," he said. "Candy is a tough girl and she's not exactly a saint."

Remy narrowed his amber eyes on the single twin. "Your brot'er is gonna need a saint when de po' is finished wit' him. Wasn't Noel hooking up wit' Candy again after he tried his hand as a rapist?"

"Remy!" Rogue pleaded. Her reserve slipped when anyone, especially her beau, mentioned "the incident from a couple months ago." To Rogue, it wasn't a topic for conversation yet. It was embarrassing and frankly unladylike to the native belle. They sure didn't call her the Biloxi Rogue for nothing, but even she recognized, unfortunately experienced, the void separating innocuous promiscuity from unspeakable shame. When people talked about "what happened," it made the void even more palpable to Rogue while others began questioning its existence.

Remy only tried to look bold and menacing when the topic was revisited. Despite his stoicism, he was truly scared. Though he could likely prevail over any advances from wormy, doppelganger mutants that would hurt Rogue, he was essentially powerless to control Rogue herself. And if Rogue wanted to do this and that, or study with a vile pervert and whatnot, Remy would be an abiding, no, an obliged gentleman.

Dickie felt obliged to talk when Remy still hadn't left. "I know my brother isn't a saint, either, but he didn't do anything to that girl."

Rogue stiffened.

"I mean Candy," Dickie clarified. "Besides, what would Noel need with her that she wasn't already putting out?"

Rogue shook her head, collecting papers and stuffing them into her unfastened bag. She ditched the fellows and they watched her suede knapsack flap angrily behind her.

**

"This feels wrong," Jean said. "Should we be holding a fundraiser with Candy missing?"

The banquet hall twinkled. It was a ballroom in the historic president's house, an alabaster manor, past the Green, beyond the lake, nestled in a remote forest fringing the northside of campus. Centered on each cake-white tablecloth was an arrangement of tall candles, their light glistening on the hardwood floor.

Most of the guys convened on one side of the room: the wide shoulders of the rugby team slanted toward one another, indicating their community. They were dressed similarly and handsomely in sports jackets, some of them monogrammed, some of their cuffs linked. Jean cradled an elbow and glanced around as if Candy would turn up right there. This seemed like the kind of thing she would like.

Rogue shrugged at Jean, appearing beside her roommate. "Dickie thinks she's just in the city somewhere."

Jean sniffed. "Yeah, well, Dickie's a degenerate."

"You sound just like him."

"What?" Jean shot a look.

"Nothing, you're just…kind of on a high horse over there."

"Pardon. I didn't know it offended you when I offended the bastard whose brother tried to rape you."

"This is what Ah'm talking about!" Rogue pushed her bangs back from her forehead, hot from frustration. She ushered Jean into a corner. "Ah don't know what yoah problem is lately but you've been really… Ah don't know! You've always been a little snobby but…" Rogue gave up. She was never very good at expressing herself, especially when she was upset.

"Rogue, I…" Jean tried to communicate her own part. Perhaps she had been extremely reserved, some would say uptight, because she was intensely guilty about the affair with Gregory. "I'm sorry. I think I'm just having a problem dealing with Scott and Eden," she lied.

Rogue softened. "Ah see."

"Seriously, he's like a little boy finally experiencing what he's been masturbating about all his life. And her! She's like an eager little slut-bunny!"

"Jean, cut it out." Rogue spun on her heel and shuffled to the front. Jean slinked behind her.

There the girls saw Scott. He was with Eden. She wore a hot pink, mini dress and high heels. The outfit flaunted her dark, sculpted legs and even gave a peek at the very bottom of her butt like little baby cheeks. When Scott met her at her dorm earlier, his eyes crawled over those legs like wildfire. She had grinned back at him, swishing her kinky side-ponytail. She insisted that he step into her room and do whatever he wanted to do to her legs, but they could not have sex. She had refused him so far. Scott was convinced she was teasing him, which she was. She had discovered early in their relationship that he was a virgin, and something about that turned her on so much she didn't want to go and ruin it yet.

Rogue mused that Eden didn't look that cute in the dress. She sidled up to the couple and Jean, biting her cheek upon spotting Eden, loitered behind Rogue's shoulder. "Hey, Scott. Eden," Elle smiled brightly.

"Hey, Rogue!" Scott piped.

Scott always seemed a little happy to see her, and Rogue felt that it was pretty genuine even though he and everyone else was really nice to her right after the Noel thing. "You both look nice. Actually, you look pretty hot together."

"Thanks. Hey, Jean," he offered.

"Hi." She half-smiled before turning her attention to some girls beside her whom she recognized from recreational tennis and she quite possibly might have gone to country club daycare with one of them. They had suddenly convened and proceeded to kiss one another's cheeks and gasp at one another's gowns.

"Ah'm so excited for this," Rogue said, catching the neighboring sentiments and distributing it into her circle. "Are you gonna do it, Scott?"

"No."

"Aw, c'mon! Let a gal buy you, ole boy!"

Scott smiled but shook his head again. "It just doesn't feel right."

"Jean said the same thing! You mean about Candy?"

Scott and Eden shared a look as if they had been talking about that earlier.

"No," Scott said. "But that is sad, and a little scary. I just don't like this…" he waved a hand at the makeshift stage and what appeared to be either a soap box or an auction block.

Rogue rolled her eyes bigly and Scott couldn't help notice them sparkle when they met the candlelight. "Oh, Scott. You're either too politically correct or too prude. Gawd, no one likes a prude boy." She winked and Scott noticed her eyes again, like peacocks fringed with dark, feathery lashes.

"You're wasting your time, Rogue," Eden snapped.

The girl perked a brow. Even Jean poked her head back in with big, red curls piled on top of it, but quickly reminded herself to abstain from Scott's relationships. She excused herself altogether and joined the bordering clique of ladies.

"Be back in a bit," she called, turning her head at them, and Scott refused to notice the slender curve of her neck, like a woman's bar of soap.

"Besides, I've already begged him," Eden continued without Jean, sweeter now. "He won't budge." With that, hot pink sauntered to the spiked punch.

Rogue began to foster a twinge of threat from the other tart. She excused herself from the remaining Scott and disappeared to find Remy. She wondered where he was, anway. Feeling naughty, she put an extra slow sway in her hips. The halter top of her black, two-piece gown inched up to reveal the small of her back. She knew Scott was watching. After all, he was just a guy.

In the bathroom a bit later, Jean was staring at herself, adjusting her stiff, high collar trimmed with white lace. Her underarms perspired and itched in the tight sleeves. Her pout and crown were naturally red as sinful apples, spiting her clean gown. She heard the students cheering on the other side of the door at the auction starting. The microphone introduced Remy LeBeau as the first bachelor and the girls sincerely screamed. Jean's lips twitched into a smile and she resolved to enjoy the festivities.

Stepping into the little hallway, she met another pair of blue eyes, these ones light and watery as bubbles. It was Barbie, dodging Jean and scurrying past her. Behind the blonde, Gregory himself appeared in the hallway from a closet door. He saw Jean and flashed her a satisfied grin, shoving his hands in his wrinkled pant pockets and sauntering the way Barbie left.

Something started connecting for Jean, but she didn't know what it was yet. She thought for a second while Scott turned the corner. He halted at seeing Jean, turned his face to watch Cash retreat, and settled back on Jean.

She shook her head. "It's not what you—,"

He abandoned her in the hallway.

"Scott!"

He marched across the floor and toward the stage. He climbed the platform just as Remy descended to wrap his arms around his purchaser, the brunette belle. Remy cheered when he saw his roommate position himself center-stage and the crowd roared with him.

Jean pursed her mouth in hurt and disgust. Who did he think he was, whoring himself like that? The young woman gripped her hipbones and pouted, staring for anyone to notice her and sympathize. Everyone was engaged in the spectacle that Scott was making as he clapped his hands and smiled around. She fled, her snowy slippers padding on the linoleum.

Rogue watched Jean's tantrum and then she watched her leave. The southerner sighed, looking back at Scott's auction. So far, only Eden had bid on the poor boy. He was about to sell for his opening bid of only thirty-dollars, once, twice, before Rogue tipped her head and heard her own throat shout, "Fifty bucks!"

Faces flipped toward her, already holding hands with her previous and expensive purchase of $190. They were incredulous, and some of the expressions even wore an amount of admiration.

Eden's violet eyes glinted like steel. "Sixty!"

"Seventy!"

The crowd felt the intensity and began cheering louder at each girl's bid. It was something like a cat fight and the guys got giddy.

Rogue laughed at that. She was having fun with all the boys and she was very powerful indeed.

**

Jean stood in front of her own full-length mirror now, naked save for her underwear. It was cotton and high-cut, but even all that fabric did nothing to bulk her little form. She pressed her palms against her tea-cup breasts and kneaded them until the skin was taut and puckered. She was satisfied because they looked sexier that way. She proceeded to hop up and down gently, watching only her boobs jaunt because she had no flappy parts.

"Titties," she spoke softly. She blushed and it turned her on to see her cheeks color a feminine pink and not clay red. She had forgotten how she could be pretty, but she resolved to remember tonight.

The early winter wind bayed outside her window. Jean slipped her hand into her panties and dragged her pearly fingernails across her slit. The wind made peals of moaning and chills spilled down her naked spine. She watched herself in the mirror. Rogue could come in any time, and Jean also recalled Candy missing, maybe kidnapped, raped, murdered, or hungry and freezing in the city. Maybe she was selling her body for cocaine. Maybe she gave the best sex in New York. Heat poured through Jean's body like a fire that engulfed her and empowered her. She was not afraid of her power anymore.

**

Rogue had an arm slung around each of her possessions as they nearly dragged her into their dorm.

"Ah actually liked that mai-tai," she slurred. "What is that stuff? Is it from Hawaii?"

Scott answered, "That wasn't mai-tai. Someone just spiked the punch."

"You got that right! It definitely packed a strong punch." She guffawed gracelessly, elbowing both their sides. "Get it? You get it?" She succumbed to a sigh. "Ya'll don't get it."

Scott and Remy shared a smirk over her head.

Scott fumbled for the dorm keys. Remy simply turned the knob and opened the door saying, "I never lock it," and glided into the room.

Rogue plopped onto his unmade bed while her hosts emptied their pockets and shook off their shoes. Rogue watched as they loosened their shirts and stripped off their belts.

"Fellas! Ah am a lady!"

Scott faced her and she grinned knowingly, throwing Remy's comforter over her. She held his hot gaze. Her eyes were big as limes, drunk on arousal. Coquettish, she squirmed under the covers until Scott saw her black velvet skirt shimmy out from under the blanket.

"Woah, woah," Remy laughed, finally turning from his bureau. "You got to wait just a bit until I can get up in there wit' you, _chere._" He roared a yawn and scraped his fingernails up and down his hard chest. He fell onto the mattress beside her. "Scotty, it's okay if she stays d'night here like dis?"

Scott stumbled. "Um-,"

"Who says Ah'm ready to go to sleep?"

Remy shook his head and buried it deeper into his pillow. "Just can't get enough, can you?"

"Ah wanna have some fun with you two boys. Aftah all, Ah bought you, didn't Ah?"

"I t'ought you bought Scott in like a charity way."

"Whatever," the young man replied, climbing into his own sheets.

"C'mon, Remy, let's show Scott what sex is." She rolled on top of Remy and pressed her mouth hungrily onto his. He grasped her shoulders and picked her off of him.

"Not in front of our guest."

"I live here," Scott returned.

Rogue rolled her eyes and released a groan. "Aw, get ovah it." She folded the cover away from them and hopped back on Remy, straddling him. Her bare legs traveled up to the black thong that barely covered her sex.

"Christ, Elle!" Remy cried, throwing splayed fingers across her thighs.

"It ain't a big deal." She grew excited at the fuss she was making. She rumbled, "Scott likes to watch. Don't you, Scott?"

He was staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched.

Rogue was offended. She slipped out of Remy's bed and stood between them.

"Do you wanna do this or not?" Rogue looked to Remy.

"No."

"Fine." She stepped closer to Scott's bed. "Then you."

Remy scoffed but Rogue remained quiet, her eyes already jumping into bed with the other roommate. Incredulous, Remy shot Scott a look.

He still stared at the ceiling, clenching his sheets, just a pawn in their freaky drama.

Rogue beamed in an attempt to exonerate her unladylike behavior. Her brash suggestions were presently unbecoming to her primary beau, though he typically found her spunk cute when directed toward him. Rogue sighed inwardly. Always the fortunate son, having his cake and eating it, too.

Rogue was not too surprised then when Remy became impatient, but Rogue was nothing if not stubborn as a prize horse. She sat on the edge of Scott's bed.

Remy stood. "What de fuck?"

Scott wanted to bury his head, but regardless, Rogue was on the edge of his space, grazing it. What did Remy expect him to do—beat her away? He kept quiet. If Remy did expect him to do something, he had not been patient about it. The Southern boy bolted barefoot from their room and slammed the door.

"Well," Rogue started, "that was easy, Ah guess."

"Are you messed up or something?"

She chuckled humorlessly, saying, "No. Ah don't know," until her face fell. "Why do Ah got to be the crazy one? Maybe it's ya'll that are the crazies."

Scott stayed silent, listening.

"Guys, Ah mean. Like Remy, he loves it when Ah flirt with him and wear cute dresses foh him and everything, but then it's like he hates anyone else to see me in that dress! And he doesn't like it when Ah flirt in front of othah guys, eithah! Ah don't mean _with_ othah guys, Ah mean even _with him_ in front of othah guys!"

"But you weren't just flirting with him tonight, you were trying to have sex with him in front of me. And then you were just straight up flirting with me."

Rogue rubbed her temples with _Chanel_-lacquered fingertips. "Maybe he needs to know that Ah'm not perfect and that Ah ain't trying anymore eithah. It's like he wants a Playboy Bunny and a saint all at the same time."

"I could see what you mean," Scott chipped. "Psychology experts say men have a complex of projecting onto their female significant others the embodiment of both a virgin and a whore." Scott thought fleetingly of Jean.

"Exactly. Impossible," Rogue sighed, rolling her eyes. She folded her legs up and hugged them. "Hey, Ah really did want to come over heuh into yoah bed, though. Don't ask me why. Ah'm done explaining every little thing Ah do."

Scott stiffened again, returning to his state of pained ambivalence: He did not want to destroy his friendship with his roommate, but here Rogue was, nearly naked and curled in his bed. Scott wasn't even sure if this would necessarily destroy their friendship. After all, he was pretty sure Rogue's stance had always been fairly non-committal regarding the traditional terms of "going steady." She demonstrated her unconventional policies by slithering the length of Scott's bed until she was lying beside him.

In fact, Rogue didn't busy herself with exploring her own policies. She only did what she wanted and that was all. Scott did not seem like the judgmental type. At the moment, she wanted to lie on her side and cradle her pretty head.

Rogue faced away from him now, the smell and the tips of her hair still reaching his pillow. Her foot swam through the blankets and brushed his shin. She said over her shoulder, "You can spoon me."

He hesitated.

"C'mon." She snuggled against him.

Wordless, he strapped an arm around her. She melted in. After a few minutes like this, Rogue popped her butt up, gently first then faster until she was nearly grinding into his erection.

He lifted his leg to let her supple form press against his lap. He squeezed her thighs then jerked back.

"It's okay," she called, retrieving his hand and pressing it on her naked belly. "You can touch me." She felt his body heat flood the bed while his hand roamed her skin. She yielded to every touch he made, excited to let him discover her.

Wordless, he dragged his palm as far down her thigh as he could reach, and then back across her hip, up to her waist. When she sighed into his caresses, he ventured his hand across her plump breast.

She curved against him, arching her tits into his hands and her butt harder against his erection. "Yeah," she breathed. "Touch me if you want."

His mouth pooled with drool as he watched her writhe in the moonlight. He deftly moved his left hand to replace the right at her breasts while the right hand traveled back down to her thong-covered sex. He dipped a finger under the string and plunged it into her.

She moaned and smiled.

Encouraged, he slid it in and out of her and spread the honey all around her lips and her clit until the flimsy, black thong and her tiny, waxed bush were drenched. Her cakey-sweet scent filled the room.

She turned her cameo back at him and pressed her lips together impishly.

In one move he scooted her thin frame under him and hovered over her. He rested back while he pulled her knees apart and gazed at her delicious cunt. He yanked his boxers down and his pretty, long cock bounced out. He looked readily at her face.

She was fondling her nipples, which were aroused and big as grapes, and biting her lower lip maddeningly, temptingly, daringly.

"Come on, Daddy," she rasped. "Put that thing in me. Please."

Scott held his penis at her entrance where it throbbed and pulsed hungrily, nearly jerking forward of its own accord to bury itself in the warm womanhood against which it pressed.

She moaned again. "Oh my Gawd, please Scott!" She caught herself and said quieter, "I want it all the way in my belly."

He plowed into her finally and held it to the hilt for a couple of seconds. She lied still at first, letting him get his motion, before slamming against his thrusts with her own jerks. She wrapped her powdery legs around his hips. Eventually she completely encircled his back and used her heels to drive him harder into her. She threw her head back and her mouth fell agape. He grunted and sank his jaws into her white neck, never losing his furious rhythm.

"Oh my Gawd!" she repeated. "You like that? Do you like the way it feels?"

He growled his response. Finally he cried out and shuddered. He had no intention of stopping.

Rogue felt his cock stiffen and swell inside of her. She cooed encouragingly and he pounded against her until his cock exploded against her womb.

They shared the temporary but glowing warmth as their muscles ebbed and flowed like waves. Irresponsible and selfish, they fell asleep like that, him inside of her.

**

Rogue woke up before dawn when the blackness of night lifted to gray shades. She was sharing Scott's body heat under the covers. Turning her peach face toward him, she sighed heavily until he resurfaced from his snooze.

"Remy ain't back," she rasped. "Not that Ah really expected him to be. That boy's got mah number."

"He told me. You mean your version of fem-lib…free love…all that?"

She nodded, mussing her hair against his pillow.

"Yeah, well," Scott continued, "I still don't think he ever expected this."

"Who did?" Grinning, she hopped out of bed and frisked the foot of his sheets until she grasped her thong.

Sitting up, he said, "Rogue, thanks."

She slipped on the pieces of her gown and scoped her lank hair and smeared mascara. "Dang, looks like Ah'll be making the ole walk of shame," Rogue lamented at the mirror. "But you ain't got to thank me, boo. It was really nice."

"Thanks," Scott repeated dumbly. "I mean thanks for saying it was nice."

Rogue swung open the door and stepped into the hallway where the lights made a shadow on Scott's floor. She sallied away silently, her unwavering eyes twinkling forward.

**

Remy arrived on campus soon after. He could have taken a cab there but he opted against it when he awoke a couple hours ago at a house he stayed at in Greenwich. It was owned by former Tulane fraternity brothers, now law students at Columbia, all sons of Jean-Luc's friends . Aside from a little recreational time, they spent most of the night staying busy instead of partying. Remy did, however, manage to convince them into some good morning cocktails. Swimming with rum, Remy had wandered to a near bus station early and traveled from there to the public trains. He had to wait until the station opened at 6 A.M., when he took the first train to Xavier's. It was a cold and colorless ride. Remy used the loneliness to think seriously about Rogue. He obviously liked her much more than she was willing to commit, at least for now. In fact, the more she refused to conform to his idolatry, the more obsessed Remy became with defining her as his perfect woman. He mused his perfect woman would have to have a wildness about her, but sweet. _Wild and sweet_, he thought. _That's definitely Rogue. And strawberries._ But his perfect woman would know how to adore him, too, and would know how to raise his sons, and maybe a daughter, and keep his household.

By the time Remy was kicking up the school drive, there were police cars gathered in front of the office and some cops scattered on the lawn. Remy sailed past them toward his residence. He ducked under a willow when he noticed Rogue's crepuscular silhouette crossing the dewy lawn to Marion Leigh, wielding her barely clad limbs as brazenly as a fawn in the morning. Behind him, Remy heard an officer comment.

"Hello, nurse. She's up early."

"More like out late," another grumbled. They both chuckled.

Remy remained motionless as he watched her disappear into the building. He didn't want to know what happened last night and he resolved never to ask her. Or Scott. His lips curled a little when he thought about his roommate. _Dumb fuck_. Remy recalled Scott as the goody scholarship kid, horny teenager, virgin nerd, confronted with a specimen like Rogue. _Loser didn't have a chance_. This pitiful assessment did little to improve Remy's mood about what might have happened between his roommate and his paramour. He was still bitter, no matter how pathetic Scott was.

As if his brainstorming had manifested her, Jean appeared on the porch of Marion Leigh sporting a ponytail and her headphones. She set off on a jog, cutting straight through the lawn and bouncing right past Remy. He stretched his arms and caught her between them, swinging her around and to a stop.

She yelped, removing her ear buds. "Remy, you scared the sugar out of me!"

He stared at her, figuring out why he stopped her. Her pumping chest and flushed skin resulted from an adrenaline rush that Remy similarly contracted just watching her. Engaged in the immediacy, he blurted:

"Maybe you'd like to come wit' me to Louisiana."

She knit her copper brows. When he didn't continue, she did. "That sounds like fun. When?"

"Now…whenever I get the flight."

Jean laughed outright. "What…?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

He slinked to the other side of the tree. "Just forget it if you're gonna interrogate me." He nodded to the pair of cops who were currently questioning a student.

Her eyes brightened knowingly and her adrenaline returned, making her heart flip. This was a good opportunity to establish the new, fearless Jean she resolved to be. Remy was a good friend and she suspected they could get into some trouble together.

"Is Rogue coming?"

Remy shook his head, brushing off his shoulder. "No."

Jean resolved to ask him more about that later. "Give me one hour."


End file.
